Destiny's Darling
by The Fictionist
Summary: Basic oneshots from my HP Fate's Favourite universe...just thoughts and moments that come into my head and don't fit into the actual story. It's my writer's block deterrent. I'll happily take requests.
1. Concussions and coffee

AN: The basic idea is a series of oneshots from my Fate's Favourite universe that come into my head, but that I can't currently fit into the story. Excuse any medical errors, my source is google. I take non slashy requests if you want. Enjoy - The Fictionist

Harry flinched, almost unnoticeably, as a scalding hot wave of coffee washed over his head and a fist smacked into his jaw - whipping his head back with a crack as it whacked into the wall.

"Suck on that, death eater!" Mclaggan sneered. "And get out of our common room."

He stared in silence for a moment, heat rising up his face. He had never felt so humiliating. Trying to pretend he wasn't hurt, desperately not looking at anyone, he backed out of the Gryffindor common room. A second later, he was running.

It was DADA in an hour, but who really gave a damn. He was mortified to find that his eyes were stinging with hot tears. Coffee, burning and sticky, clogged his hair and face - blisteringly warm. He swore under his breath; veering into the bathroom.

He dropped his bag on the floor with a thud, praying that no one would enter as he turned on the tap and leaned over. He had to get this crap out before class.

This whole situation was ridiculous - what normal person got bombarded with mocking hisses, coffee and punches when they walked into a room? It just didn't happen. Except to him apparently. Salazar, he was such a freak.

He bent over the sink, dragging his locks beneath them. This was so stupid. He felt like punching someone, cursing them bloody…but he also felt like crying. No one in Gryffindor had said a word to protest to Mclaggan. Some had looked guilty and sheepish sure, but they hadn't done anything. Oh, the fickleness of Gryffindor friendship. They were supposed to be the heroes, with the Slytherins back stabbing anyone and everyone to meet their goals…but it wasn't like that. Slytherins were intensely loyal to each other. They bickered, they put each other down to rally for status and power - but they never excluded a fellow snake for another house…not publicly. The Gryffindors: how many times had they turned on him before? Even the steadfast loyalty of the badgers had wavered in his direction before.

Ironically, the only people who had never treated him different were the snakes.

Damn it all.

"Harry?"

He froze at the familiar, velvety voice. Tom. Crap.

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Tom replied. There was the soft sound of footsteps, even and ever closer. This day kept getting worse. He narrowed his eyes at the Slytherin heir - just daring him to ask why he had his head under a tap. Tom didn't, pausing only studying him for a moment before drawing his wand.

The wooden stalls of the lavatory shattered, one side splintering off. With a flick, a stool was flying into Tom's hand. He set it down between them. "Come here," he instructed. He raised his eyes to meet Tom's gaze, questioning. Tom rolled his eyes. "Sit."

Hesitantly, he did so.

"Tilt your head back. You're making a mess of yourself."

He didn't move, feeling far too vulnerable and exposed. Riddle sighed. "_Harry,"_ he chided.

Slowly, so slowly, he let his head fall back to rest on the sink behind him. He didn't shift his eyes, his hand fisting around the wand in his pocket. If Tom noted the action, he ignored it; pocketing his own wand.

Long fingers threaded into his hair, tugging it back. He felt his shoulders and neck muscles tense. This was so bloody awkward.

He hated anyone seeing him like this, even less that it was someone he may have possible respected like Tom - Tom with his 'loathe anyone weak, laissez-faire if it doesn't benefit me attitude."

The water came on.

"What happened?" Tom asked quietly, not looking at him.

"It's nothing," he said automatically. The Slytherin heir made a sound in the back of his throat.

"You're hiding in a bathroom, with coffee in your hair and blood all over the side of the mouth."

Um. Tom smirked. "You're lying skills are on top form today, aren't they?"

"Shut up." There was no bite to his words.

The next few minutes passed in silence, broken only by the sound of running water. He resisted the urge to wince. Damn it, but it hurt.

Tom's hands stilled for a moment, running over the back of his head. He was starting to feel dizzy. His head was ringing.

"Add possible concussion to that list…sit up." The hand shifted from his hair to grip his shoulder firmly.

Dumbly, he did so. He was supposed to be caring about taking orders…wasn't he? Tom crouched down, shining his wand into his eyes. He flinched.

"Too bright," he mumbled. "Go away."

Tom frowned slightly.

"Are you tired? Stupid question…you get a ridiculous lack of sleep. Do you feel any dizziness, headaches, nausea?"

Did he really have to answer that?

"I'm fine," he lied.

"Hmmm" Tom replied sceptically, doubt colouring his tone.

"Really -" he began.

Tom took his hand away from his shoulder. The next second he was falling, his vision blurring and his world swaying alarmingly. He felt himself pitch forward. Two hands took his shoulders, holding steady.

"I'll take that as a yes, Tom, I have one or more of those symptoms." Riddle's voice darkened. "Don't lie to me Harry. It's not doing you any good." He blinked, his hand jerking to touch his head.

"Ow…" he muttered, surprised. Tom rolled his eyes. "I repeat, what happened?" He shrugged tiredly.

"Don't want to talk about it."

"Tough," Tom snapped. "We're talking about it. Damn it Potter, I'm too old for this."

"Oh, so it's Potter now? You're only like…sixteen Tom," he growled. Tom narrowed his eyes. His gaze was shrewd and calculating. "The Gryffindors kicked you out."Was that a guess? Or did Tom know something. His gaze shifted despite himself, giving him away. Tom shook his head.

"I'll see you in our common room tonight then," he said firmly. "To-"

"Be quiet Harry." There was a pause. "Will you go to the hospital wing willingly, or am I going to have to drag you?"

He considered the question for a moment, his brow furrowing. Tom appraised him. "I'll take that as the latter," he said coolly. The next second, he was hauled up and onto his feet. "Lets go, chosen one. Salazar…the things I do for you."


	2. Screaming for sleep

A hand roughly grabbed the back of his shirt, dragging him into another corridor.

"What - Tom?" he spluttered. The Slytherin heir arched his brows, continuing to walk at his normal brisk pace, surrounded by the rest of the 'gang.'

"Is there a problem, Harry?" he queried calmly.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"Dragging you down a corridor?" Alphard offered cheerfully. He shot the young Black a glare, before focussing Tom again.

"Seriously?"

"You have brains. Use them. What does it look like I'm doing?" despite his scathing words, the teenage Dark Lord looked more amused then anything.

"Dragging me down a corridor…" he conceded. Zevi smirked. "Why?"

"Well, I presume you want a bed for the night?"

He stopped short, wondering if he'd misheard.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Tom replied, pausing also to look at him. I - oh.

"I'm not sleeping in Slytherin. In case you hadn't noticed, a large fraction of the inmates of this time are people who want to kill me."He was quite offended when Tom threw his head back and laughed; it was a rich laugh, melodic and mystifying in its meaning. The rest of the Slytherins were chuckling also. "What? I was being serious! It's not funny," he growled. Abraxas ruffled his hair.

"Ah, bless you. Don't worry little lion," the blonde stopped to snicker. "Tom will protect you from the mean, nasty death eaters."

Harry could feel his cheeks burning, tomato red - the colour of fresh cherries.

"I don't need protecting! That's not what I meant!" he denied. Tom had a very familiar, predatory smile on his face.

"Scared, savoir?" he taunted lightly.

"NO!"

"Then what's your problem? "He was stumped.

"I - well -" he struggled to find an appropriate reply.

"That's what I thought," Tom said, only the slight glitter in his eyes revealing his smugness. Harry frowned. It wasn't the death eaters. It was more the fact that Tom was one of the only people observational enough to notice that he didn't get any sleep, and Slytherin - as he knew from cold hard experience - had nightmare wards. Unlike in Gryffindor, he couldn't get away with spending half the night screaming in his sleep under silencing charms. Awkward situation? Hell yes.

"Speaking of places to sleep," Tom's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Where exactly were you heading to just now?"

He doubted Tom would like his answer - but since when had he cared about catering to Tom's wants and desires anyway?

"The Room of Requirement," he replied. Just as he predicted, the lines of the dark haired Slytherin's jaw tightened. "I see," he stated, piercing Harry with those sharp, calculating eyes.

"In that case…it's a good thing that we came along, isn't it?"

Tom carried on walking, not looking back as Harry was swept along with them.

"What's he doing here?" Montague demanded. "What is this, a slumber party?" Tom shot the quidditch player a cold look.

"Sleeping. As you should be. Isn't it a bit past your bedtime, boy?"

"You know what they say, age before beauty," Alphard chipped in cheerfully.

It was rich, considering Tom was the younger…but in true Slytherin fashion of power hierarchy, the boy stammered a bit before fleeing. Great. It seemed Tom had his little empire established already.

Salazar, he worked quick. He was pushed into the dorm.

The Slytherins of the year, so used to his presence, scarcely glanced up from what they were doing. Zabini looked a little too entertained though.

That was when he realised a slight problem.

A) He didn't have his belongings.

B) There was no extra bed.

"Er.." he began, causing Tom's attention to swing to him once more. "Yeah. I'm going to the room of requirement.

Before he'd taken so much as two steps, the Slytherin had hauled him back into the room.

"Oh no you don't," he murmured. "Don't be such a baby. They're double, king sized beds."The Slytherin's were watching his steadily growing red features with vague vindictive glee. Loyalty aside, Slytherin's would be Slytherins. They seemed to take an unusual amount of pleasure in watching him suffer in ways such as this. It was the knowing expression on Tom's face that made him blank his features though. Damn it. Steeling himself, he shrugged his shoulders in a show of indifference.

"Whatever. Where am I sleeping then?" he asked, trying miserably to hide his discomfort.

"Pick a bed. So long as it's not mine I don't care," Tom dismissed.

It was a sign of Tom's power that none of the others protested to this statement.

Well hell.

He lay staring at the familiar ceiling. Stone, engraved with a flowing, elegant pattern of snakes. He could hear them hissing, soothingly. He didn't close his eyes.

The Slytherins of his time knew perfectly well that he was pretty much an insomniac - prone to nightmares and horrific visions. The Slytherins of the day did not…and he didn't want it getting round. Not to mention that he'd kind of led his…friends to believe that he was actually sleeping without horrendous memories tainting his dreams. A lie, but a well intentioned one. It wasn't their business anyway. _So, why are you so nervous? _a cruel voice whispered in the back of his head. He wasn't nervous, he had nothing to hide, he - crap. Who was he kidding? Tom was going to bloody pin him down and murder him if he found out. He was strange that way. He always got worked up about Harry waking up in the middle of the night screaming for some reason. Probably got kicks out of it, or something. Oh, he didn't know.

He was too tired to analyse Tom's twisted intentions of logic right now.

But he wouldn't fall asleep. Not here…not….here…

His eyes closed.

"Harry! _Harry!"_

He sat bolt upright with a gasp, his whimpers and screams dying in his throat like a flame that had been iced. Attack - Voldemort. He whipped his wand out, a curse on his lips. "Calm down right now!" a voice ordered, leaving no room for argument. His wrists were caught in a vice, locking them down onto the duvet.

His panic receded slightly.

He was in the Slytherin common room. He wasn't there. He was - shoot. Maybe it would have been better to be back there. Tom looked deadly. A glass of water was pressed into his hands, deliciously cold against his fevered skin.

Oh dammit.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, automatically, moving to run. He fell asleep: he sodding fell asleep! Failure.

"Whoa, whoa," two hands pressed into his shoulders. "Easy."He looked around, wide-eyed, at the Slytherin dorm. Everyone was staring at him. He didn't look long enough to judge their expressions…he didn't want to.

"I'm going to be sick," he whispered. Pushing the hands - Zevi - away, he staggered for the bathroom and shut the door. Leaning against it, he sucked in shaking breaths, his body trembling. He could hear them talking.

"What was that?" Zabini asked quietly.

"Git could have let us sleep -" Malfoy (Draco, that was.)

"Oh shut up -" that was Alphard, his voice sharp. There was a moment of quiet.

"Some nightmare," Nott whispered.

"I'm going to go check on him. See if he's okay," Zevi said. There was a rustling.

"It's okay, Zevi." Tom's voice was calm against the panic. "Go back to sleep, all of you. I'll deal with it. I trust this won't be talked about?" There was a low murmuring of consent. He stiffened, his head in his hands.

"Harry? How are you feeling?" Tom pushed open the door, not giving him the chance to hide. His mouth felt choked. In answer, he leant over the toilet and threw up. "That bad, huh." He felt something land on his shoulder - a jacket. He drank some water, swilling it around to clear the acrid taste of vomit from his mouth.

He was pretty sure he had just chucked up everything in his stomach. "You're shaking," Tom noted, clinically. His voice tight. "Come on. Lets go down to common room." Numbly, he let Tom tow him out the dorm, nudging him into a chair by the fire.

Despite the warm, fiery heat…he still couldn't stop shivering. _Kill the spare. Not Harry! Stand aside. Your fault. Death eater. Traitor. Murderer. _

"I'm fine," he lied, faltering under the venomous glower directed at him. If looks could kill…

"Of for Salazar's sake," Tom snapped. He flinched. Tom's magic immediately simmered down for a bit. He was hanging onto his temper…just about. "I thought you said that the dreams had stopped?"

"Mostly." There was silence from the Slytherin heir, a tense, suffocating silence. Then Tom sat down beside him. The worst part was that the simple act of not saying anything like 'you idiot' or even worse 'everything's going to be okay' made him want to cry. Wasn't that just lame?

A hand came around his shoulders, tugging him closer. Automatically, knowing he shouldn't, he turned boneless.

Damn it, but he couldn't do this. Fingers absently stroked his hair back. There was a mutual understanding between them about nightmares…or, there had been.

Point one: don't assume that because I'm holding you that I actually care. I want sleep.

Point two: come to me, I'll help and leave it at that.

Point three: I won't lie or try and comfort you because I'm not that guy.

He preferred it that way, strangely. He knew perfectly well that Tom wasn't going to mother him or have a touchy-feely sentimental talk or start sobbing on his shoulder in a my life sucks fest. He liked it like that.

He wasn't used to being taken care of…the Dursleys, well…lets leave it that breaking down in front of anyone or talking about emotions made him a little uncomfortable. This time was different because he'd lied and said that the nightmares had stopped.

This time: Tom was furious.

"_Harry."_

He sighed.

"Okay. So they haven't stopped. I'm still living, aren't I?"

Tom didn't look appreciative at that remark.

Still, he didn't back up, actually his grip tightened slightly.

They sat like that for a long time.

He was calmer now, his breathing even, most of his shuddering ceasing.

"Come on," Tom instructed, tilting his head towards the dorm. "At this rate we could probably both do with some sleep." Tom's voice was still tight, controlled. He hadn't had his rant yet. The waiting was the worse.

"You go ahead," he muttered. He didn't want to sleep. Tom's eyes narrowed.

"No. You shut up and get into bed. It's not helping you to sit awake mulling over your guilt issues."

"I don't have guilt issues," he scowled. Tom arched his brows, an are-you-bloody-kidding-me? expression on his face.

"And the sky isn't blue," he replied tersely. "You know; if you were just honest about the fact you haven't slept a decent night's sleep in weeks, we wouldn't have this problem. Don't keep it from me again. Now _move." _

Deciding that this wasn't something he wanted to get into now, he dipped his head in asquicement, heading for the dorm.

Zevi was sprawled - fast asleep once more - across the middle of his bed. He was laying across his diagonally, obviously having been planning to wait up. Harry smiled just slightly, before a thought struck him. Damn it. That was his side of the bed! Aw crap.

Tom rolled his eyes.

"If you snore i'm going to bloody kill you."

AN: Still no slash, Any requests? Comments? Should I bother with these random little drabbles? Or just focus on the actual story and work my block out in my own time? Hope it was adequate. This oneshot was for **Cobalt star **who wanted a continuation of the last oneshot. I don't know what I'll do next time; any ideas? 


	3. Quidditch

AN: This one's for EndlessVamp. Enjoy.

"Tom," he stated slowly.

"Harry," Tom replied, not looking up from his newspaper. The Slytherin's all turned subtly to watch where this was going. He studied the Slytherin heir for a moment, who, seeming to sense the weight of his scrutiny, looked up. His eyebrows arched in a go-on gesture. All the other's around them had subtly twisted to watch where this was going.

"You know you're the most awesome dark lord ever…" he began. Tom set his paper down with a sigh, reaching over to press a hand against his cheek. He paused."Err…what are you doing?"

"Are you ill?" Tom questioned, appraising him seriously. "Dying? Or do you just want something?"

"Wow, harsh. I'm wounded."Tom dropped his hand, eyeing him warily.

"You don't seem feverish…have you done drugs? You know they're bad for you, right?"

"I'm not on drugs!" Harry exclaimed indignantly. "Damn it."

"Are you planning to kill yourself anytime today? Cause if you are I'm going to hospitalise you…and gag you. If you want a sappy goodbye seen go and talk to Cygnus…"

"Hey!" Lestrange protested. Tom smirked.

"No…I just…I'm bored."

Well, that backfired. Tom continued to watch him dubiously.

"Killing yourself because your bored isn't a good idea either," Zevi chipped up. He shot them both a filthy look.

"I'm not trying to kill myself," he growled. He stood up, glowering. As he started walking out, the others rose also. Abraxas' arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"Oh, relax Harry. Tom's just teasing you."

"Yeah, cause I'm the most awesome dark lord ever," Tom added, his eyes glittering. "And that, dear savoir, is a direct quote."

"Shut up," he grumbled. Alphard laughed.

"That's what you get for whining when you're bored," he said.

"You know, most people would just go 'hey Harry, why are you bored? Perhaps we can help..'"

"Only boring people get bored," Cygnus added snidely. "You forgot that one."

"You must find your life very tedious then," he returned, not missing a beat. "Does anyone want a game of quidditch?"

"We've only got five people - you need 14 for two teams."

"Six," he corrected automatically. Abraxas quirked a brow.

"What?"

"We've got six people - Tom."

"I'm not playing that stupid game," Tom said flatly. "No matter how bored you may be."

"Fun sucker."

"I'm not a fun sucker!"

"Are you scared of heights?…Aha! You're scared of heights!"

Tom slammed him into the wall, talking through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing.

"I am not scared of heights you brat. Stop saying that!"

"Then why won't you play?" he asked, grinning. "Cause I'm just going to keep on saying that you're scared of heights until you do."

"You're the most irritating person I have ever had the misfortune to meet," Tom spat.

"Thanks…was that a yes?"

"Find some players for your own team, I'll find mine. Three O clock. You're going to get crushed Chosen one."

He snickered as Tom pushed him away. So dramatic.

He bet Tom loved Quidditch really..

"Fred! George!" he hailed the two Weasley Twins.

"Harry -"

"-Old friend-"

"-What can we do for you on this fine and spiffing day?"

He grinned despite himself.

"I require your beating skills for three O clock. It's a matter of life and death," he said with mock gravity. Two pairs of eyebrows raised.

"Tell us more…"

"So, I kind of have this competition with Tom…"

It was lunchtime. Two hours to go and he still needed a keeper. He walked into the Great hall with his team in two. Seeker - him. Beaters - Fred and George. Chasers - Katie Bell, Blaise Zabini and Demelza Robbins. He froze, his hand itching to his wand. Tom smirked at him.

"Planning on sabotage? How dishonourable of you."

He stared at the two extra players Tom had found: Rodolphus and Rabastian Lestrange - who would either be seeker, keeper of beater.

"That has got to be cheating!" he said in disbelief. "Rodolphus used to be a national Quidditch star! You can't use the Death eaters."

"Should I be worried that you know about my past…"

"All's fair in love and war, Harry. You never said I couldn't. Why? You getting nervous?" Tom taunted.

"Nope. I stand by the fact that you're going to get your ass kicked," he retorted.

"Why don't we set a little…shall we call it a wager, to sweeten the pot then?"

"What are the stakes?"

"Harry -" Hermione began. He glared defiantly at the teenage Dark Lord.

Tom appraised him for a moment.

"If you win…we (as in everyone of this team) will never make derogatory remarks about any of your friend's blood status ever again."That sounded good; which made him worry about what his forfeit would be. Still, he wouldn't lose…

"And if I lose?" he questioned. Tom leaned back.

"You get to be my personal slave for the week."Crap. He swallowed, hard.

"Barring doing anything that will screw up the war."

"Quite," Tom smirked, staring at him. He took a deep breath. "What's the matter savoir? Are you scared of a little bet?"

"No," he growled. Tom simply held his hand out to shake.

Shake hands with the devil ring a bell much…

He needed a keeper.

"Professor! Professor!" he skidded in front of McGonagall. Her lips thinned.

"No, I won't be on your quidditch team, Potter," she said sternly.

"No, it's not that. I need to use your floo network! It's really important."

"Why?"

"I need to contact Oliver Wood…"

They stared at each other from across the pitch. For Tom's team: Rabastan (Keeper) Rodolphus (Beater) Alphard (Beater) Zevi (Chaser) Tom (Chaser) Abraxas (Seeker.)

They looked at each other.

"Are you sure that the big scary broom isn't too much for you, Tom?" he goaded. Tom closed the gap between them, tilting his head.

"Careful Harry, might want to watch your mouth seeing as you're going to be my servant for the next week."

"In your dreams."

"This is war."

"Bring it."

AN: You want a two parter? Any more requests? Please review…and I sound like a sap…but reviews are nice anyway. Shameless. - The Fictionist. That was crap. I'm sorry. It sounded funnier in my head.


	4. In sickness and in health

He was so screwed.

The first thing Harry felt when he opened his eyes was pain.

His head was throbbing, his throat was on fire, the world was swimming and he felt nauseous. Coughs threatened to tear his lungs out of his chest. Oh dear. Not good.

He'd always hated being ill…it just left him feeling terrible. The Dursleys had always been very begrudging to take him to a Doctors who to waste medicine on him. While he knew Hogwarts wasn't the same, he still felt an instinct to hide.

He wasn't soft, he would get by. He carried on at Privet Drive, so he could carry on here as well. What was the worst that could happen?

He slumped down at the Slytherin table, forcing soothing warm coffee down his throat. He would need it to stay awake. People were counting on him; he couldn't afford weakness. The sight of all the greasy foods in front of him were making him feel sick all over again. When he first arrived at Hogwarts he had loved having eggs, bacon, toast - you name it - for breakfast. Yet, as the years had gone by and his sleeping patterns taking a turn for the worse he found himself with less and less appetite in the mornings.

The Slytherins conversed idly around him: he was established as someone you didn't want to talk to in the mornings, and for that he was grateful. His voice wasn't completely scratched out yet, but it was certainly rough. Talking, hell, breathing was difficult.

"Harry?" Tom asked suddenly. He flicked his eyes up, questioning. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine…" he said, suddenly panicky. "Why wouldn't I be?" he continued calmly. The Slytherin's exchanged looks with each other, making him wary.

"You haven't said anything disrespectful and breakfast is almost over. It's worrying," Zevi decided to clarify. He stared at the dark haired boy for a moment, before glancing at Tom.

"You're arrogant. You don't know when to shut up. You're a hypocrite and your future self -"

"-I think we get the point," Abraxas said quickly, loudly - trying to divert the danger. Tom's head tilted, his expression alarmingly thoughtful.

"You asked me to be disrespectful," he shrugged. Hurriedly, trying to pretend he wasn't hurrying, he finished off his coffee and stood up.

Crap, he felt shaky. The world was swaying like a see-saw. He put his efforts in remaining composed…in keeping his trembling lead-filled muscles from trembling. Why was it so cold? "Are you guys coming?"

He had successfully made it up to the last lesson of the day - DADA. He had been feeling steadily worse all day…and the feeling was only growing. Hermione and Ron had expressed their frequent concerns, even threatening to talk to a teacher about it. He had adamantly claimed he was fine - because he was. He was just a bit hot and cold, tired, fluey. It was nothing to worry about. He could handle it.

A hand tugged at his arm before he could collapse into his seat.

"Can I talk to you?" Tom asked. It was phrased as a question, but the underlining steel and the hardness in the Slytherin heir's eyes suggested that it wasn't anything but. It was an order…but would it be followed?

"Class is 'bout to start," he muttered, keeping his voice low. Maybe if it was quiet, the rasping quality wouldn't be so obvious. From the slight tightening of Tom's jaw, he guessed it didn't really work.

"Your minions -"

"- friends -"

"-have been telling me that you're sick. Apparently you almost passed out in the hallway."His eyes sought out Ron and Hermione, narrowing dangerous. Traitors. They pointedly looked away. He snapped his gaze back to Tom.

"Yeah, well I'm fine. Spectacular…never better," he argued defensively. "I didn't realise you lot were on speaking terms."

"There are exceptions to every rule," Tom stated, studying him intently. Their conversation was broken when Carrow entered the room, swishing her wand as she want.

"Mr Potter stop distracting Mr Riddle. Both of you take your seats," she said coolly.

Why did almost all defence against the dark arts teachers hate him and wish him bodily harm?

"Yes professor," he said automatically, too exhausted to flare up. She never changed anyway, no matter what he said. Tom's grip tightened on his forearm.

"With all due respect, I'm taking Potter to the Hospital wing."

"What?" he yelped, snapping his head round. "I said I'm fine."

"And I can tell when people lie to me," Tom retorted, too calmly. Carrow sighed moodily, scrutinising him.

"He looks fine to me." YES! "It is the last lesson of the day, I'm sure our esteemed savoir can hold out for another sixty minutes."

"Most definitely," he added. "Sorry to disturb your lesson."

He was once more prevented from sitting down. Salazar, this was getting repetitive.

"Are you questioning my judgement, _professor?_" Tom's voice had turned as cold as liquid nitrogen. He had instantly and without complication dropped his model student act. Carrow took a step back, seeming to remember that however charming Tom's masks may be, he was still the teenage Dark Lord.

"I -" she stammered. As a teacher, she was meant to be the superior in this conversation.

"Yes, I believe she is, and rightly so. I'm FINE."

Tom's eyes flicked to him, filled with annoyance.

"You would say that on your death bed. Actually, I recall that you did say that one time on what could have been your death bed if that phoenix didn't turn up."

About that… "Not to mention the fact that your mental shields are deteriorating…" Tom raised a brow at him.

"Stay out of my head," he growled. Tom definitely looked irritated now.

"Harry, Voldemort could probably tell you have a raging fever right now, let alone me when I'm standing right next to you and can feel the heat coming off you."

"Your concern is touching," he spat.

"Harry," Hermione spoke up hesitantly. "Just go to the Hospital Wing. You look dreadful."

"No," he said stubbornly. "I'm -"

"Alphard?" Tom started. The Black met his leader's gaze for a moment, before abruptly walking over and scooping his legs up. Tom's hands hooked around his arms, lifting him clean off the floor. Harry spluttered.

He couldn't believe this!

"Right. Easy way or hard way?"

He lay sullenly on a bed in the Hospital wing, glaring at Tom, The matron, Alphard, Tom…

"This is stupid," he scowled. "Look, I'll just take a pepper up potion and go…" he hopped off the bed. Raging magic filled the room, objects beginning to shake.

"So help me Harry James Potter, get back on that bed right now or I'll body bind you onto it and give you a real reason to moan for the next week," Tom hissed. He took an instinctive step back, falling back on the bed.

Disrespect aside…Tom in a temper was terrifying.

"You have quite a high fever," Pomfrey noted, fussing over him. "You should have come to me straight away, young man! There's also some symptoms of malnourishment and tonsillitis." He looked innocently away from Tom.

Yup, he was definitely screwed.

AN: I'm sorry! It's not Quidditch part 2 or the Cherri101's request…I just had a block that I was trying to get rid of and this is the resulting madness. I'm halfway through quidditch, any ideas? Thanks for all the reviews. I hope you managed to enjoy this insanity - The Fictionist.


	5. Quidditch 2

AN: Whoa, requests! I love it, and all of your reviews. Now, here comes the hard part of choosing which one shots to do first…a very lovely dilemma if I do say so myself. Keep them coming. Well, firstly, I'm going to do Quidditch part 2, and then Cherri101's request about the morning after chapter 2.. Tee hee, I might be enjoying this more than you guys. So here we go…. Enjoy - The Fictionist

He was racing for the golden ball, Abraxas at his side. Both their arms were stretched as they tore to ground like ribbons, desperate to catch the snitch. He could not lose this! He could not lose this!His hand closed around the golden ball, the wings beating feebly against his skin.

Yes!Then the world went black.

He blinked, his head spinning. He was on the floor of the Quidditch pitch, several figures looming over his body.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"The bloody death eater almost killed you! That's what happened!" Ron spat. His head tilted. Why was Ron here? Oh. He'd been watching. Stupid. Hermione was peering at him, anxious and disapproving, all at once.

"Sorry chosen one," came a sheepish, slightly hoarse voice. Wow. That was a new one; a Death Eater was apologising to him. Miracles never ceased. He groaned.

"I meant the game," he said. Tom's face appeared above him. His team all looked at each other. Oh no. He'd caught the snitch! How could they have lost…unless…no.

"I'll keep my side if you keep yours," the Slytherin heir stated smugly.

"It was a draw," he verified. What was the likelihood? Tom smirked.

"Oh yes. Rodolphus whacked you with a bludger, keeper goes berserk over the big scary Death Eater mutilating his seeker…I score. I might actually like quidditch."

There was no God.

"No Harry, you're just Fate's favourite play thing."

Did he just say that aloud? "Yes. That too. Wolfie, if you've made him brain-damaged with too much pain relief I'm going to murder you."

Rodolphus Lestrange's face appeared above him.

"I didn't mean to. He looks okay…a bit like Bella." he sensed the Slytherin's peering at him.

"Oh wow, I look like your insane bitch of a _wife_, thanks," he snapped. Rabastan snickered.

"I meant the…slight out of it…never mind." The world was swaying alarmingly, and he was still lying down. He moved to sit up, only for Tom to press a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy there. I mean it, I don't want you brain damaged…you can go comatose at the end of the week if you really want but…"

He almost shivered at the menacing glint in Tom's eyes. Why did he agree to this?

"I'm looking forward to it already," he drawled sarcastically. His team looked horrified now. "Starting tomorrow right?"

"You're not seriously going to continue that stupid bet! He's injured!" Hermione protested.

Alphard laughed.

"When isn't he injured, dying or in some mortal peril?"

"I resent that," Harry frowned, his words slurred. He was not always dying or in tr- okay, scratch that. Alphard was right.

Tom arched his brows, before sighing.

"Come on. Let's get you fixed up. It would be insulting if you had gained an internal injury and died without my permission…"

His permission? Harry rolled his eyes.

"Your superiority complex never ceases to amaze me." He struggled to a stand, accepting the assistance of the Weasley twins. He glared at Lestrange (senior…wait, junior. Cygnus was actually his father…man this was confusing.)

"If I'm stuck in the hospital wing because of you I will hunt you down and put your head on a platter," he said in a matter of fact voice. Lestrange went pale.

Ha. Sucker.

It was with a sense of doom an the gait of a man being led to the gallows that Harry walked into the Great Hall that morning. Tom smirked at him, looking far too gleeful for good. Suppressing a groan, he walked over.

"Hi Harry!" Alphard said cheerfully. "Pomfrey let you out of her demonic clutches then?"

"With some persuasion," he replied, regarding the Slytherin heir warily as he spoke. He moved to sit down. Tom held up his hand, his eyes glittering. Gritting his teeth, he paused. "Tom?"

"This coffee tastes funny. I want some freshly brought from the kitchens."

"It's the same coffee you always drink!"

"_Harry." _

He looked at the breakfast table, then abruptly turned around for the door.

"Anything else?" he asked tightly.

"I'll have a cappucino!" Abraxas yelled.

"Milk, no sugar!"

He hated his life. It was going to be a long day.

The week was almost over, thankfully! It had been an absolute, unequivocal nightmare. He had fetched coffee at random times of the day…been an arm rest…cleaned Tom's boots and belongings, twice…carried Tom's belongings for days so that his muscles ached…been a test subject for Tom's random spell experiments…among other things. This was the worst week ever. The worst part was that he had to be vaguely respectful and when he WASN'T doing something he was just on beck and call. That was the last time he took a bet with Tom, ever. Oh well, last two days…he could do this without cursing the bastard bloody…possibly.

Automatically, he stopped by the kitchens to pick up random snacks that Tom demanded, before entering the Great Hall and dumping them.

By now, most people had stopped staring quite so obviously.

"You're really hating this aren't you," Tom smirked. He scowled.

"Oh, you think!" he snapped. "It's a wonder you have anyone who puts up with you! You're a freaking slave driver! Get yourself house elf or something, okay?"

"Why would he want a house elf when he has you?" Abraxas returned sweetly.

"I don't know…a house elf might behave better?" Cygnus shrugged spitefully.

"Hey!" Alphard protested. Harry got his hopes up for a second. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to be nice to the servants!" His hopes crashed down again.

Servant. Right. The second this week was out he was going to curse someone, hard. Probably Tom.

"Now now," the Slytherin heir in question chided. His sharp eyes were thoughtful. "Harry?"

"Yes?" he steeled himself for a long string of orders. "How would you like to finish this a day early?"

"WHAT?" The other's protested. He folded his arms, staring at Tom.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked warily. Tom wouldn't just do something like this - ever. Tom smirked, holding something up. Suspicions confirmed, turning into absolute horror.

"Is that a leash?"

"No way," he denied. "Absolutely no way are you putting a bloody collar and leash on me! I'm not a puppy!" He should have known Riddle had something planned. Tom smirked, truly chillingly.

"Harry, I'd take the offer…considering I could just order you to wear it without cutting off the extra day."

"But…" he whispered. He wasn't serious. Tom couldn't be serious. Judging by his gleeful expression, he really was. "You're twisted, did you know that? Really twisted.

""Put. It. On."

He wanted to die. The Slytherins were snickering - Alphard was asking around for a camera. Everyone was successfully staring at him again. "I hope you burn in hell," he muttered, tugging at the leather band around his throat. Tom grinned, moving away.

"Heel Harry! Heel boy."

Yes. Definitely the last time he made bets with Tom.

AN: Challenge - Anyone feeling up to or want to write this week? You're welcome to put your own spin on it and you don't have to use my stuff. Hope you liked it =]


	6. Morning

_AN: Aloha, it's me again! (Are you sick of me yet?) This chapter is a by request of Cherri101 who wanted a continuation of what would happen the morning after chapter 2: Shut up some of you slash lovers, I know exactly what went through your head at the morning after! Anyhow, here you go Cherri. Enjoy - The Fictionist_

(Zevi's POV)

Salazar, he'd lost Harry his bed…where had he - oh. A small, almost unnoticeable smile curled his lips for a moment. Tom. Wow, he knew that his lord was fond of Harry but he'd never realised just how much. Tom had a habit of not letting anyone initiate physical contact with, or get close enough to…it was fine if the Slytherin Heir came to you, but you didn't just go up to him and put an arm around his shoulders or anything so chummy.

Harry and Tom, despite the size of the King Sized bed which could have fit four people on its width, were back to back in the centre. He stifled a laugh, observing silently. No one else was awake yet, but then again, he'd always been an early riser. It was strange how they had come into that position…Tom wasn't in the habit of protecting or turning his back on anyone - not really. So the fact they were back to back spoke volumes, it was the exact same position they duelled in against group duellers.

Still, they probably wouldn't appreciate any remarks, they were both so…prickly. He would prefer to keep his tongue in his mouth, thank you very much.

He shook his head, amusedly, heading for the bathroom.

What a pair.

(Harry's POV)

It was morning, he could tell that much from the subtle shine of light through his eyelids. He couldn't really bring himself to care though, or ponder how exactly light got to the Dungeons. He was still tired, and the bed he was on was comfortable and warm. He shifted back slightly into the warmth of the duvet, before freezing. That wasn't soft enough to be a duvet. The previous night came flooding back to him.

Crap.

Carefully, warily, he turned his head slightly to see the back of a head of raven locks. Yup, now he remembered. He winced slightly, shifting away fractionally towards his end of the four poster bed. There was a low groan and Tom turned over onto his back, his hand reaching for his missing 'duvet' without opening his eyes. In any other situation, he may have laughed. Well, actually he might have snickered a bit in his head, but he didn't laugh - that would be a bit mean. Still, it was extremely disconcerting to see the teenage Dark Lord without his normal masks and unreadable expressions. He looked just like any other person…well, almost just like any other person. Theoretically. He looked human.

He counted down from five in his head, his timing perfect as Tom's eyes snapped open, his barriers flying up when he hit zero. They both sat up slowly, staring at each other and their close proximity, before glancing around the dorm to see if anyone had noticed. Just Zevi - that was adequate, he knew how to keep his mouth shut. As the sleep drained from the older boy's gaze, it turned into a glare. Harry ran his fingers through his already messy hair, simply for the want of something to do with his hands.

"Morning," he greeted quietly, Tom continued to glare at him.

"Sleep well, Harry?"

He suppressed a wince. He had actually, once he managed to get back to sleep after the nightmare. The nightmares…which he conveniently hadn't mentioned before hand. Tom's eyes drifted to the window (fake, like the ministry ones) gauging the weather outside.

"Get dressed. We're taking a walk."

He repeated: crap.

It wasn't exactly nice outside, but it wasn't pouring with rain either - just a bit cold and grey. There was a biting chill to the air…winter was coming early. They were by the black lake, walking around it for the sake of doing something while they talked. It was pretty there anyway, so he didn't mind; and it gave him something to look at other than the myriad of dangerous expressions flashing across his companions face as he formed his rant.

"You didn't think your nightmares would have been something worthy of mention?" Tom asked, starting of delicately enough. His voice was soft, too soft…he was so screwed. He shrugged.

"No, not really. My dreaming is my own problem."

"Funny that, because I was to other person up last night!" Tom snapped coldly. He glanced at the Slytherin Heir.

"I didn't force you to stay up," he returned angrily. "I never have, nor have I ever asked you to. You're welcome to ignore it if it's a bit too much of an inconvenience for you."

"I'm not going to bloody ignore you screaming yourself hoarse with a grand total of three hours of sleep a night - none of it restful," Tom hissed, spinning to face him.

"Why not?" he spat. "You would if it was anyone else."

Tom pointedly disregarding the statement, his eyes growing as cold as liquid nitrogen.

"It's not even that," he stated icily. "You told me the nightmares had stopped! You swore it."

"I lied."

"Clearly." Tom looked absolutely murderous. The lake became mesmerising to watch - anything but those eyes that could pierce through his soul with a precision that not even Dumbledore managed.

"You wouldn't have taken it well," he said softly. There was a noise from Tom.

"Oh, you think? Whatever gave you that impression? How do you think I'm taking you lying to me then?"

"Badly," he said simply. He turned to face the teenage Dark Lord. "And I also think that you're overreacting."

"Overreacting?" Tom repeated dangerously. "I trusted you."

"Don't try and guilt trip me! You wouldn't trust me as far as you would throw me."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't now!"

"You never did!" he yelled. Tom's jaw tightened.

"Forget I said anything chosen one."

Harry felt like he'd just been slapped, hard, around the face.

"Don't call me that," he growled, his eyes narrowed. "You have absolutely no right to ream me out for anything I've done. It's not like you've never lied to me."

"I haven't."

That threw him for a second. They locked gazes.

Now he felt bad.

"Sorry," he mumbled. This was why Tom was so much more of a threat than his future counterpart - he made you to care. He literally dragged you into his world and threw away the key. His mind couldn't help but flash back to Tom's face before he had snapped his walls up.

"Don't lie to me again."

AN: As always, thank you so much for all your reviews, I feel loved! 3 Still taking requests. No slash. **Next chapter: Just for you Takethestairs. Harry on drugs =]**


	7. Ketawhatsit?

Harry's head felt funny…like his brain had gone all mushy. Ha! Mushy. Squidgy squidgy pink brain. Still, a little voice nagging in the back of his mind that sounded like a disturbing mix between Tom and Hermione was insisting something was wrong. He was fine though! What could be wrong with him?

He tripped over the stool at the club he and the rest of the Slytherin's were at - much to Dumbledore's displeasure. Oh well, it was the weekend. What could he do?

"Alright?" someone random stranger leered, grabbing his arm.

"I'm fine…" he said, quickly. He could feel panic rising in his gut like vomit.

"You sure?" there was a wicked smile. "You look a bit…why don't you sit down for a moment?" she asked.

He shook his frantically.

"No. My friend -" his friend what? His brain was fuzzy.

"I insist," the witch continued, staring at him in a manner that made his skin crawl.

Please no. His head was muzzy, he couldn't walk straight and his vision was tingeing…but he hadn't completely lost it. Water. He needed water.

"No-" he began, trying to edge away, his voice slurred.

"Harry?" Tom's voice came over the loud music, blessed and never before so welcome. "What's going on here?" his aura flared a bit. The witch immediately let go of his arm.

"I was just…"

"She won't let me go! Get me away from her!" he panicked, his mouth blurting his pleas without his permission.

Tom looked murderous.

The witch hurried away, leaving her drink at the counter at the palpable danger in the air. He could feel himself swaying slightly.

"Don't feel good," he mumbled. Tom's hand curled to turn his face, peering at him intently.

"Are you drunk?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nooo. Ha ha! There are fairies! Tom, can you see the fairies? They're so shiny and pretty…" he questioned, peering at the ceiling. His head tilted. Tom picked up his glass, running a finger along the rim. His eyes narrowed further.

"What have you drunk tonight?" he questioned harshly, shaking him slightly. Harry frowned.

"OW…"

"_Harry."_

"Just…juice and stuff…could be corpsicles…" he started giggling. Corpsicles! Tom's magic started crackling, his wand suddenly close to his face. "Hey! I'll scream!" he threatened. "You can't -"

"Lumos," Tom muttered. He blinked at the sudden light. Tom swore in a very uncharacteristic, colourful manner.

"UM!" he pointed. "You said a bad word!" he narrowed his eyes. "Does that mean I'm allowed to swear now?" he asked. He didn't know why Tom always picked him up on his language anyway…

"No," the teenage Dark Lord growled. His head tilted.

"But Tom -" he stopped. The nausea was rising.  
Then the world was hit with ink.

(Tom's POV)

His hand automatically shot out when Harry's eyes rolled back and his body pitched forward.

Salazar's cat…he was drugged. His pupils were completely dilated. Someone was going to die tonight, under his pleasure. With an irritated sigh, he signalled for their companions to come over.

"What's up with Harry?" Alphard asked.

"Lightweight…" Lestrange snorted. Zevi frowned.

"Is he…drugs?" he asked, eyeing the young man. His potion obsessed brain instantly noting the signs.

"Yes," Tom spat out, his voice tight. He shifted his grip a bit, hauling Harry over one of his shoulders. He was completely limp…pliable - totally drugged up if his nonsensical babbling about fairies was anything to go by. It was that witch he just knew it.

Harry was so going to get it when he woke up!  
Leaving his drink unattended enough for someone to drug it…idiot. He could have got himself killed or in some serious trouble.

"You want some help?" Abraxas immediately took a step forward, his hands rising. He shook his head, his jaw tight.

"No. I have him fine. He's not heavy," his voice was clipped.

"Are you sure?"

"Do I look mentally delusional? Or somehow incapable of making my own decisions?" he snapped. They took a step back.

"N-no my lord," Abraxas stammered, looking terrified.

"I'm fine," he repeated. He forcibly calmed himself, shooting a small smile at the Malfoy. "Thank you for the offer though." Abraxas offered him a shaky smile.

"Anytime…"

"You're worried about him," Zevi stated. "If I'm not being too outspoken. He'll be okay."

"I'm not worried," he replied coolly. "Merely irritated." Zevi didn't look like he believed that. The urge to torture someone was growing.

It wasn't his problem if the young snake lion was a magnet for trouble and creeps. The nasty voice in his head asked him why he was refusing to let anyone else near Harry or why he was raring to rip that witch's head off her shoulders of then? He told the voice to shut up, setting the green eyed boy down on the sofa in the common room.

Everyone was watching him nervously, probably able to sense his magic crashing around him like the turbulent waves of a black sea.

"Is he going to be okay?" someone, he didn't care who, asked. He simply nodded.

"Most likely."

"Do you know what drug it was?"

"Ketamine…I think. Or some form of date rape drug," he deadpanned. No one dared to even whisper a question after that.

(Harry's POV)

He felt groggy, his eyes seemingly glued shut. He could hear voices, spinning above his head. The room slowly came into focus.

"He's awake!" Zevi said immediately. Harry blinked, pressing a hand to his head and pushing himself to a sitting position. A second and a black blur later he was lying flat on his back again with Tom's hand pressed firmly onto his chest.

"Tom…what the hell? Where am I? What happened?" he asked. Tom's jaw was clenched, his eyes glittering with rage and so many emotions that it was nigh impossible to decipher even one. His face was startlingly pale, even more so than normal. Harry frowned slightly, groaning. "The club…we were at the club?" he groaned. He felt so confused.

"Have you got a mental disease?" Tom asked coldly. He blinked, puzzled and more than a little unnerved by the pure ice in the other's voice.

"No…"

"Some form of memory loss? A genetic malfunction in your brain?"

"No," he repeated, slightly annoyed now.

"Then pray tell me how you managed to ingest Ketamine or something when you know full well not to leave your drink lying around after Halloween?"

Oh. Wait..

"Keta-what?" he asked blankly.

"It's a drug. A sedative."

"Oh."

"Oh?" Tom hissed. "Is that all you can say?" the room started rattling. "Salazar! You don't just have a hero complex, you're plain suicidal."

"Well, I wouldn't have drunk it if I knew it had a ketawhatsit in it, would I?" he snapped.

"You should be smart enough to keep your drink on you!" Tom snapped back, sounding absolutely livid. He bit back a rough reply, moving to sit up. He was once more prevented from rising. His brow furrowed.

"Well, if I'm such an idiot why do you effing -"

"-language!-"

"-put up with me then? You should have just left me! That would solve all your problems, wouldn't it?" he growled, nearly screaming. Furious, disorientated and not that he would admit it scared, he knocked the restraining hand away and leapt to his feet. He couldn't remember a thing of what had happened.

A second later, the colour drained from his face like dye down the sink and the world became a seesaw.

Strong hands caught him by the waist, preventing his nosedive from fulfilling himself. He blinked as he was pushed back onto the couch, thankfully sitting up this time.

"Watch it," Tom warned, surveying him sharply. "I swear the amount of trouble you get into…would you able to not stick your neck into if I bloody tied you to a chair or would you somehow manage to kill yourself from cutting of your circulation?" the question was acidic. Harry frowned, insulted.

"I'm still alive," he muttered.

"God knows how," Tom answered. They glared at each other, ferociously. Tom's features softened a fraction. "How are you feeling?" he asked, surveying him intently. He shrugged, a little self consciously.

"Fine," he replied. Tom stared at him for a moment longer, studying him, before nodding. "Well enough to be not tied to a chair next time," he raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Next time?" Tom laughed harshly. "There is no next time. Ever. Not happening."

His eyebrow rose further.

"Right…" he remarked slowly. Tom looked away, tugging a hand through his normally perfect hair.

"Sleep it off. You'll feel better in the morning."

He nodded, sensing the underlying steel in the Slytherin heir's tone. He would probably body bind him if he dared to not agree right now.

Gradually, the crowd dispersed.

"Harry, go to bed," Tom ordered, not looking at him.

"Where are you going?" he asked shrewdly.

"I have some business to take care of."

"Tom…I don't know who-"

"Harry," Tom's voice was brusque, on edge. He took a hint, reluctantly, at the other boy's expression. Nothing he could say and do was going to prevent Tom from fulfilling what he was planning. He wasn't exactly in much of a state to stop him either, the world still felt off. He settled for two words.

"Thank you."

Tom was silent for a long time.

"Goodnight," he said finally.

The common room door closed behind him.

(Tom's POV)

Bitch was dead.

AN: _Was that alright? I know it wasn't what you expected from Harry on drugs…but hey, was it adequate anyway? Be warned, I have little to no medicine training so I don't actually know anything about drugs. Thank you for all the reviews. Take the stairs, this one was for you. _

_Next, for Kamuinoyume, it's the ultimate showdone…Tom vs. Voldemort._


	8. Ministry

The cool doors swung open to reveal the dark, marble corridors of the department of mysteries. Harry steeled himself, creeping forward silently - Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna at his back.

"Harry, are you sure he's here? This could be trap?" Hermione whispered shrilly.

"I need to check! If he's got Remus…" Harry trailed off, feeling sick. He slipped through another door, into the room he saw. With the balls. White, ghostly and lining in eerie rows.

"I just can't believe Riddle actually agreed to be a distraction while you came here," Ron said disbelievingly. Harry swallowed, hard. The slight nausea was rising. Luna peered at him. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"He didn't, did he?" she asked.

"Nope," he said in a falsely cheerful voice. He continued counting the rows.

"He doesn't even know that you came here, does he?" she continued. He glanced behind him.

"Nope," he repeated in the same tone. Neville paled.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, sounding exasperated. Luna grinned.

"He's going to hunt you down…" she said in a sing song voice. Harry's jaw tightened.

"Thanks Luna."

"You're welcome." She either ignored, or was oblivious to the high level sarcasm in that last comment.

He rounded a corner, stopping in bewilderment. Remus wasn't here. He spun round, looking this way and that…a horrible sinking feeling in his chest. He felt like he'd been doused in a bucket full of icy cold water, only to be pushed into a fire and promptly dunked again into the ice. Crap. This wasn't good. He whipped around desperately.

"Harry…" Hermione began.

"No," he said stubbornly. "He's here! Voldemort was torturing him! It's like, it's like with Mr. Weasley…"

"Harry -" Neville began.

"-are you sure?" Hermione asked, worriedly.

"Harry!" Neville said louder. He spun to face the round-faced boy. "It's, it's got your name on it," he said quietly, pointing at one of the orbs. Harry took a couple of steps towards it immediately.

"You sure you should touch it, mate?" Ron questioned doubtfully.

"It's got my name on it," he said. He knew he was started to be obstinate. This was the point where Tom would have hit him - and why the hell was he thinking about Tom's reaction? Tom wasn't even here…

He picked up the ball determinedly, even as Hermione opened her mouth to speak. He could hear a whispering pick up immediately in his head as he stared at the letters, felt the orb in his hand. A raspy, familiar voice. Trelawney, like in third year.

Repeat: crap. It was a prophecy. One he wasn't all that sure he wanted to hear.

He was half temped to throw the bloody thing against the wall. The decision was taken away from him with a small, mocking clapping noise. The four of them whipped around.

Death Eaters.

They'd split up, horridly, into different rooms. Past rooms with bell jars and brains, scattering.

This was a nightmare.

He should never have let his friend's come along. He was so stupid! God! The troublesome prophecy was pressed in hand, tightly. He shot a curse at a death eater, watching with some vindictive satisfaction as he dropped.

They were closing in on him, fast. At least they were after him and not the others. Damn hero complex - no wait, he was not going to admit to that now! He could hear footsteps pounding after him as he burst into a corridor. Not good. Not good. He was so dead.

He barely had time to hear the footsteps coming up behind him before he was roughly dragged backwards through the last door, a hand over his mouth. He started flailing immediately, trying to bite or curse.

"Stop struggling," the voice ordered. "Or I'll body bind you!" He went still, reluctantly. Tom's hand dropped.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed, his voice very low. Footsteps thundered past. He tried to move out the tiny store cupboard, only for the teenage Dark Lord's grip to tightened painfully.

"Looking for you, you stupid twat," Tom spat. Yup, he was furious. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I thought I'd go hunt some death eaters because I was bored!" he snapped dryly. Tom swore under his breath, shoving him violently out the little area.

"Funny, Evans, really funny!" he snarled. "Come on, there's a floo a few levels down." Tom stalked past him, his steps near silent, his grip like a vice on his upper arm as he bodily dragged him a long.

"No! Ron! Hermione -" he began. Tom's grip didn't loosen, the opposite in fact. Harry was pretty sure he was going to have a myriad of bruises along his arm tomorrow, if he lived that long.

"Already back. As is everyone else," he said coldly. "We ran into them on the way up." Harry had a feeling that if they hadn't, Tom would have quite contentedly just left them alone with the Death Eaters. He almost tripped on a stair, Tom's pace was unforgiving, he didn't pause or slow.

"Whoa, whoa Tom!" he started.

They entered the atrium, large and lined with floos. He'd barely taken two steps when his head exploded in absolute agony. A million pokers pierced his mind.

The floo nearest to them was shattered into a million pieces, forcing them to throw themselves onto the ground. He had bit through his lip, suppressing screams.

Tom's dark eyes were on him for a moment, then flicked up over his shoulder. He turned slowly, his head roaring with protest. Pale, snake like and tall, with ruby slits for eyes and no nose.

Voldemort.

How was that even possible? Wasn't there a paradox. He was yanked up onto his feet, dizzyingly. He automatically had his wand pointed out, and Tom was armed too. Tom took a step forward, just slightly, leaning almost subconsciously in front of him as he stared at his future self, the thing between them and the floo network. He smirked, vibrantly, his lips falling into a bloody, crimson smile imbued with charm, danger and mockery.

"Well, I'd say it's a pleasure, but…" Tom shrugged gracefully. "It's not. Your face ruins the pretty picture for me, apologies."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed."Hello Tom."

_**A/N - Mercy…it's not my best. I know that. Sorry. Been busy, lack of inspiration, a collection of excuses you probably have no desire to hear. This one was for Kamuinoyume. Next up Hogsmeade, then a continuation of Harry being ill, then Tom and co visiting privet drive…**_

_**Hope you enjoyed. I know I enjoyed your reviews. - Fictionist. **_


	9. At Number Four

_A/N: I know I said that the next request covered would be a hogsmeade trip, but most people have asked me to do the privet drive one next. So, here goes. I hope you guys enjoy it - The Fictionist_

It was becoming definite.

Fate either hated him, or simply loved using him as a play toy.

Tom was going to be staying at Privet Drive with him. He didn't know who was the most horrified; the Dursleys' for having to put up with another freak, Tom for having to put up with muggles for the summer, or Harry because of the tempest the union would undoubtedly stir. Add that to the list of chores he normally spent summer doing, and there would be some very uncomfortable talks.

Merlin.

It was so terrible that even the look on Vernon's face when they were portkeyed in wasn't funny. The situation had been explained, meshed over, exploded against with fury and grudgingly accepted under threats.

The rest of the Slytherin's all had places with Dumbledore favourites too. He was pretty sure that they had it the worst though. They were currently in his bedroom, having arrived late in the night.

The Dursleys hadn't offered the guest bedroom or even to have another mattress dragged in.

"This is your room?" Tom asked softly, dangerously so. His long fingers were twirling his wand idly.

Dudley's second bedroom was littered with junk and broken, discarded toys and objects. There was a layer of dust suggesting that it hadn't been cleaned since he had last inhabited it. He cringed with absolute mortification.

"I can take the floor," he muttered, going to the bathroom next door to both get some fresh duvets etc and to escape the look on the young dark lord's face.

Dumbledore had made a horrible mistake in putting Tom with him on the basis that he was also muggle-raised and wouldn't stick out as much as the others. Wordlessly, gaze averted, he set out their sleeping arrangements. Maybe it would look better in the morning, but he sincerely doubted it.

When he glanced at Tom, his arms were folded across his chest.

"This is a regular occurrence for you?" It was phrased as a question, but they both knew it wasn't really.

"It's not that bad. They weren't really expect-"

"Do _not _make excuses for their deplorable behaviour," Tom hissed harshly, taking a step towards him. He held his hands up in an placating gesture.

"I'm not," he said quickly. "It's just a fact. They weren't expecting us and they don't want us here…" he trailed off.

Tom didn't look appeased at all, his eyes were dark and glittering with unadulterated hatred and fury. Harry could feel unease flittering in his stomach. He wasn't scared of Tom, and he would never yield to the other through fear, but he did know that Tom was someone who it was prudent to be wary of. Especially when he was bad-tempered. He looked away, resisting the urge to clear his throat.

"Can you stop staring at me?" He bent down, undoing the fastenings of his trunk with carefully composed features and posture. He ducked beneath the bed, loosening the floorboard and placing his most precious small items in there: his wand, food, his invisibility cloak and the photo album that Hagrid had given him. He didn't bother unpacking anything else. He didn't have the heart to, this would never be home. Despite his best efforts, his fingers shook slightly as he moved to lock the trunk again.

He felt Tom come up behind him, but didn't turn, and was consequently surprised when slender hands pushed his out the way to do the trunk. Dark eyes rested on his face, but he didn't look up. He just knew that Tom was silently analysing everything he was seeing, and he also knew that he wasn't happy with any of it.

"Do they abuse you?" the question was posed quietly, in a tight constrained tone of voice. The hard undertone to the words made him doubt whether Tom truly meant it as a question at all. His gaze flicked up involuntarily.

"No!" he shook his head. "They don't hit me or anything, really." Tom's eyebrows arched slightly. "They don't!" he insisted. The lines of the Slytherin heir's mouth were rigid with rage.

"There's more than one type of abuse Harry," he said. "But I think you just answered my question for me."

"I'm not abused," he repeated. "I'm not." The magic radiating from Tom was murderous, encompassing.

"I see. Excuse me a moment." As Tom rose he immediately grabbed hold of his arm.

"Where are you going?" he panicked. Tom smiled.

"To talk to your lovely relatives." His heart sank.

"But - you can't!" he hissed. "Tom, leave it."

"No," Tom said coldly, the anger present in his movements was alarmingly on directed at him. "I will not leave it. They deserve _everything _they get. Don't you dare try and defend them."

"It's fine," he growled. "I can handle it and I can take it. It's not a big deal."

The arm in his grasp was twisted away, and immediately Tom had him pressed and caged up against the wall.

"Not a big deal?" he repeated dangerously, softly. "Yes, it is. You shouldn't have to handle it."

"If-"

"If?" Tom interrupted him roughly. "If you're parents weren't dead? If you didn't have magic? Don't even go there, do you understand me? Whatever sick martyrdom is going through your head, you will drop it right now. You do _not _deserve this - I said do you understand me?" Tom shook his slightly.

"Yes…" he replied, slightly unnerved.

He had almost never seen Tom with his temper quite so frayed, quite so genuinely emotional. Normally when something infuriated him he went icy, withering, but never like this.

Tom stared at him for a moment, before releasing him. He straightened his spine, surveying the other cautiously.

"Can you at least wait until morning, please?" he despised adding the please, but he didn't want Tom and the Dursley's anywhere in the same vicinity, especially when he was in this strange mood. "And don't kill them or anything."

"Death would be far too merciful," Tom replied lightly, but he dipped his head in agreement after a moment. "Morning it is. Get some sleep, we're going to rent some rooms in Diagon tomorrow."

Tom swept out the room and into the bathroom - Harry checked it wasn't the bedrooms of any of the Dursleys. Ten minutes later, they were both in their respective beds, Tom's eyes flicking between the cat flap and locks on the door, to the bars on the window. Harry sighed. What was Dumbledore thinking, really?

"It's a long story," he said quietly. Tom glanced at him.

"I have all summer," his mouth quirked slightly. Harry shook his head away, pulling the duvet closer and shifting on the hard floor to look away from Tom.

"Night," he firmly. There was a moment of silence.

"Goodnight."

A/N: Wow, that is shockingly serious with none of my normal banter. Sorry. It just sort of came out like this. I hope you managed to enjoy it despite this =/ If you guys wanted, I'd be more than happy to continue this little privet drive arc, into what they do the next day etc. More banter and more light. I'm not sure how well I pull off serious...


	10. Summer

Harry was right.

It was morning, and the situation didn't look better in the slightest. In fact, somehow, it looked even worse.

His back was killing him in retribution for its night on the cold wooden floor and Tom was all set to 'chat' with his relatives. Fabulous. Absolutely wonderful. Had he mentioned that Fate hated him?

Tom was still asleep, the thin duvet wrapped tight around him and his hand closed around the handle of his wand. The door opened a fraction, and Harry blinked blearily. Petunia. She glanced at the young Dark Lord, making a sharp, silent motioning movement with her hand for him to follow her. Suppressing a sigh, he did so. The door closed behind them.

"Vernon and I have been talking, and we hope you know that - _your friend - _being here doesn't change anything," she said venomously. "You are still expected to earn your keep."

"Naturally," he deadpanned, narrowing his eyes. They stared at each other, coolly.

"We're not happy with this," she stated. "Make sure that boy stays away from us. We don't want him here."

"If it makes you feel better, I don't think he wants to be here either," he snapped.

"Don't you take that tone with me," she hissed. "God, you're just like her. Every time she came home from that freak place she would always think she was so much better than the rest of us -"

"Probably because she was," a voice said coldly. They both went still, turning to see Tom leaning against the bedroom door, his arms folded across his chest. Harry winced inwardly. This day just kept getting better, and they were less than five minutes in!

"Excuse me?" Petunia repeated, her voice growing an octave higher.

"She _was_ better than you, _muggle_," Tom continued silkily. Harry resisted the urge to face palm.

"Tom," he warned tightly. Tom glanced at him, his eyes dark, before turning murderous eyes on his aunt.

"You and your husband will convene in the living room before he goes to work." Harry had the bizarre urge to laugh at the statement, for that was what it was, despite the fact he didn't actually find the situation remotely comical. It was just the look on Petunia's face that got to him; her mouth was partly open but no words coming out in due to the shock of someone having the 'audacity' of ordering her about in her own home.

"You -" she began, spluttering.

"Will speak with you then, after breakfast. I take my coffee black with sugar," Tom replied, not giving her the opportunity to speak. The mouth closed, opened again and then closed once more. Tom smirked. "Well, go on then!" he said impatiently. "If you treat all your guests in such an inhospitable fashion it's no wonder they never return."

It seemed Tom had struck some hidden fear because his Aunt left for the kitchen immediately. Harry _had_ noticed that the Dursleys hadn't had any visitors since the Marge incident…

He arched his brows and Tom winked at him in reply, before turning serious.

"What exactly does 'earning your keep' entail?" the Slytherin heir demanded. Harry shrugged.

"Not much, just chores," he replied. "Come on, let's get breakfast." He started to walk away in the direction Petunia had taken. Left to follow, Tom frowned.

"You know, your tendency to add 'just' in front of words doesn't actually convince or reassure anyone as much as you seem to think it does," he remarked. Harry scowled, subtly quickening his pace a little. All he needed to do was reach the kitchen and then he'd have a valid excuse to avoid conversation…

"_Harry_." Tom caught his arm, as if guessing what he was thinking.

"For Merlin's sake," Harry growled. "Will you drop it?"

"No." The response was flat, unusually blunt for the master of word games. Harry sighed.

"It's just cooking, cleaning, gardening - that sort of stuff," he said. He rolled his eyes. "You're making too much of a big a deal of this, seriously, it's fine." Tom's jaw tightened.

"And you're making too little," he murmured in reply.

"Careful Tom, you're getting dangerously near to ruining your heartless reputation."

Tom levelled him with a glare so intense that a basilisk would be proud.

They entered the kitchen.

The three Dursley's sat huddled on the sofa, unusually meek and subdued. Any survival instincts they possessed must have kicked in; warning them that the tall, ivory-skinned teenager before them was not someone to antagonise. The very air around Tom was saturated with danger. Harry had always thought that the concept of temperature dropping when someone was really furious was a myth. It wasn't. At this moment in time, he wouldn't have been surprised if icicles started growing out of the carpet.

"You're not the sharpest tools in the box, are you?" Tom questioned.

During their small time in the kitchen, the young Dark Lord had seemed to take an immediate hatred to the other male residents of Privet Drive. Dudley had been thick enough to try and intimidate the Slytherin, because Tom was sitting on 'his' chair and Tom had promptly slammed the blonde's head against the table with the warning not to touch him.

It was only knowing that Tom had lethal loathing of muggles that stopped Harry from laughing - the other hardly needed his encouragement on such matters. Vernon stared at them, puce faced.

"Now look here," he blustered.

"Shut up," Tom ordered quietly, instantly obeyed by the older man; even if temporarily, due to stupidity and speechlessness. "I am not here to listen to your inane blather, nor your objections, only to tell you how this summer is going to go."

Harry shifted uneasily, attracting a glance from the Slytherin heir.

"We will sleep here at night, as I have no doubt that the manipulative coot has some manner of surveillance upon us. Other then that, we will be gone as neither of us have any inclination to suffer your company and have better things to be doing. When we return, I expect Harry's room to be liveable, clean with two beds of excellent quality and all bars and locks gone. You will discard of the junk, or put it elsewhere and not disturb us. Understood?"

"Dad," Dudley whined. "You can't let them get rid of my stuff." Petunia's lips were tightly pressed, her eyes wild.

"And if we say no?" she dared haughtily. "Your kind can't use magic over the holidays." Vernon seemed to be bolstered by this reminder, and puffed up his chest. Tom spoke before the walrus had the opportunity.

"Then I'm sure social services would be most interested to know of the goings on under this roof," Tom smiled, chillingly. "They don't much like child abusers in prison from what I've heard. But I'm sure you can take your chances…?"

Petunia blanched.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she tried. Tom raised his brows.

"Your knowledge is neither here nor there to me, I know the signs of abuse when I see them." His voice was icy. Harry tried to remain as still as possible, wanting to shrink as the Dursley's gaped at him, menace in their eyes.

"Surely a smart lad like you doesn't believe the boy when he goes telling tales?" Vernon seemed to straighten, smiling smarmily. Harry felt his rage rising, smouldering in the air in a polar opposite of the chill radiated from Tom. The Slytherin smirked, a sinister curve of the lips.

"Hardly," he replied. A look of satisfaction began to spread across Vernon's face. Harry felt his heart sink a little. This was how it had always gone before, why had he somehow expected Tom to be any different? He really needed to kick the habit of wishful thinking.

"But Harry doesn't go around telling them very often." The smile vanished. "Actually," Tom's head tilted in mock thoughtfulness. "If I were you, I'd be on my knees thanking him right now as he is the _only _reason you are not on the floor writhing from the pain I wish to inflict on you." Dudley's eyes bugged. The Dursley's all looked at him, fearfully now. Harry felt distinctively uncomfortable. "So, do you understand?"The Dursley's agreed immediately.

After that the summer passed a long a lot more smoothly. The Dursley's did everything Tom had demanded, leaving them in peace and fleeing when they entered the room.

Harry found himself, not pleased exactly, but relieved. Of course, the fearful glances they gave him unnerved him to no end - a fact Tom had laughed at - but apart from that it was the best summer he had ever had.

They didn't necessarily do much, but he saw a lot more of the UK and got some life experience. Got a tour of pureblood England; introduced Tom to cinema. When Tom wasn't terrifying the crap out of his relatives he was good company. They talked about anything and everything for hours on end. It was kind of nice. He'd never really had anyone to talk to over the summer before, and Tom was an interesting conversationalist. They still bickered, had several notable fights (that weren't his fault…) and went off on their own to get away from the other at times, but he was…actually content.

He should have known it would have been too great to last.

Tom was far too curious about his life.

The Slytherin had been unaturally quiet all day, his eyes dark and brooding. They had just come out a restaurant when it seemed the other was finally incapable of holding his tongue a moment longer (Harry had been ignoring the signs of trouble all day, knowing it was more likely to make Tom tell him.)

"You know, I would think that in all this time it must have somehow come to even your mind to tell me about the cupboard under the stairs." His tone was light and conversational. Too light.

"What?" Harry asked. "I thought you knew about it. The door's not exactly hidden." Some small part of his brain reminded him that it wasn't probably the wisest move to antagonise an already furious Dark Lord when alone with him on some random side street.

Tom glared at him, his fists clenched.

"I was reffering to the part where you lived in it,"he replied tightly. Harry silently contemplated how to deal with the other's obvious ire. Tom took a step towards him, eyes glittering in the darkness. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It didn't come up," he said simply.

Tom didn't look satisfied.

"I'm going to kill them."

Harry paled. Crap. That was exactly why he didn't tell Tom.

"No, you're not!" he said. "Absolutely not. There my family."

"They're scum," Tom spat, rounding on him. "You're not their family, stop protecting them. They don't deserve it."

"I said no," Harry's eyes flashed. "That's an order."

Tom looked like he was about to slap him. Literally.

"An order?" he whispered harshly. "You forget who you're talking to, Potter. I do not follow your orders."

"Tom," he snapped. "For god's sake. Just leave it. We go back to Hogwarts tomorrow anyway. It doesn't _matter." _

"Of course it matters," the Slytherin hissed. "They gave you a cupboard for your bedroom and you somehow neglected to mention it!"

"Leave it," he insisted. "Because I'm not going to let you freaking torture them." Tom suddenly looked frighteningly composed.

"And nothing I say would persuade you otherwise?"

"No."

"Okay then," Tom shrugged. Harry stared at him, nonplussed.

"Okay? That's it?" Wow.

"Yes, that's it. I'm not going to waste my time changing your opinion on this. As you said, we're going back to Hogwarts tomorrow anyway."

"Okay then," he agreed, eyeing the other suspiciously. It wasn't like Tom to relent so easily. He was going to have to watch him closely. Tom held out his wand for the Knight Bus, before flashing a dazzling grin in his direction.

"I mean, it's not like I need your permission."

Shit.

A/N - So, I hope it's okay and that you liked it. Fate's Favourite should be up next, I don't know. Depends if you guys would really prefer another one updated instead. Thanks for the reviews :)


	11. Ministry 2

**Parseltongue.**

Voldemort was surveying them both intently, scarlet eyes glinting in the glittering gloom of the Ministry Atrium. Tom stared back just as impassively, his jaw hard.

Harry tried resolutely to ignore the agonising pounding of his head, remaining as composed as he could. Then the snake faced man smiled; a ghastly, lipless smile that held no ounce of genuine warmth or mirth.

"The Prophecy," he stated softly. "Give it to me."

Tom's eyes flicked to him, the anger in them burning like an inferno. Harry resisted the urge to wince…he may have _forgotten _to mention that. Great, now he was pretty much doomed whether they got back to Hogwarts or not. Oh well. He felt a surge of anger. It wasn't like Tom had asked, Harry had done nothing wrong whatsoever.

"Don't bother Harry, the paradox will reassert itself soon enough from whatever he's done."

Now Harry was resisting the urge to scowl. He felt like he was being squabbled over in a custody battle. Again. It was becoming too familiar an occurrence.

"I wasn't planning to," he said tightly. It was slightly creepy to watch the flash of annoyance in both Voldemort's and Tom's expressions, albeit presumably there for different reasons.

Voldemort's wand twirled in his hands, but he didn't cast. Yet. Crimson eyes found their former counterpart's once more.

"Go back to Hogwarts, Tom. I have no desire to harm you," Voldemort ordered coldly. Tom merely smirked, venomously, arrogantly, back.

"As if you could," the young Dark Lord goaded.

"This does not concern you, child!"

"Oh, it really, really does," Tom hissed. The grip that Tom still had on his arm tightened. Harry was almost certain he was going to have bruises. Voldemort glanced at him with unadulterated hatred, scarlet eyes lingering on the fingers around his arm, then back at Tom once more. God, Harry's head was killing him.

"Because of _him?" _Voldemort laughed, mirthlessly. "He is nothing."

"Then why are you so intent on killing him…?" Tom replied delicately, his tone deliberately designed to provoke. Voldemort's eyes flashed with fury. The wand was pointed in their direction now, ready to cast.

"Why are you so intent on _protecting _him?" The elder spat in return. Harry figured that now would not be the best time to say 'because I'm awesome.' Tom shrugged, shooting him a look that told him that he'd guess exactly what Harry had just thought.

"Because it would be a waste of time to let the moron die. Because I'm bored. And because winding you up is hilarious," Tom replied flippantly. Voldemort sneered. Harry bit his lip.

"Flattering," he snorted, unable to stop himself. "And there was me thinking it was because you loved me. I'm gutted. Truly," he drawled.

Tom smirked at him. Harry's mind suddenly caught up with who exactly he was bantering in front of. Crap. He glanced at Voldemort.

"Not you, obviously," he said. "Not my type. Kind of scaly." Dear god, he really should shut up. If Voldemort looked murderous before hand, it was nothing compared to the apocalyptic rage on his snake like features now. Despite himself, Harry felt a chill of terror run up his spine. He'd seen what this monster was capable of.

"Oh, and he amuses me," Tom remarked. "Did I mention that one?" The smirk on the other's lips vanished. "So get out of the way."

"Give me the prophecy," Voldemort returned, icily. Harry tightened his grip on the orb, despising it more than he could possibly have thought. He didn't want it, but Voldemort did. That meant he had to keep it safe on principle, because however much he loathed prophecies, he hated Voldemort more.

There was a moment of quiet, though Harry was almost convinced that everyone in the general vicinity could hear his head screaming at being so close to both Tom and Voldemort in a bad mood. He swallowed down the blood in his mouth - now was not the time to collapse. They started to duel.

Finally, they had managed to force their way to a floo.

Voldemort was an extremely proficient dueller with more experience than both of them combined; but neither he nor Tom were incompetent fighters. Not to mention, they had two on one, and Voldemort couldn't actually afford to do Tom any damage for obvious reasons.

Harry fell through into the Slytherin Common Room, feeling bruised and battered. Tom landed impeccably on his feet as usual, without a speck of dust on him. Smug git.

"Harry!" His head snapped up to Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna. They all looked slightly uneasy in the snake pit, and a little worse for wear. Nothing bad though, nothing serious. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, climbing to his feet.

"Alright?" he asked, just to check.

They all murmured that they were, relatively so. His head pounded even more, the black spots still dancing in his line of vision. Duelling on an extreme migraine type thing wasn't an experience he felt any desire to repeat, and it wasn't fading either. God, he was so tired. "You guys should get to the hospital wing," he said.

It was phrased like a suggestion, but it wasn't really. He could feel Tom's eyes on him, sense the fury flittering beneath the Slytherin heir's calm exterior.

"Are you coming?" Hermione asked, with a glance over him. Her gaze was filled with concern. He smiled, briefly.

"What, into _her _clutches - you've got to be joking!" he teased. Ron laughed. "I'm fine, don't worry," he added, to reassure her. His head gave a particularly vicious pound, as if to spite him. He could taste copper in his mouth again, along with bile. It wasn't pleasant. God, the world seemed to be spinning.

Still, he zoned it out with sheer will power, leaning back slightly against one of the common room sofas to ground himself. After much cajoling and reassurances, and an awkward little perception that he wanted them to leave on Luna's behalf, his friends finally departed for the Hospital wing.

All the while, he could feel Tom's temper rising and stewing in silence. The second the door shut, hands were gripping his shoulders tightly.

"**What were you **_**thinking**_?" Tom demanded, shaking him roughly. The Slytherin's around them started, the tinge of fear in their eyes suggesting just how terrified they really were. The Slytherin Heir did look rather livid and the ornate snakes on the wall and furniture were starting to come to life - a sure sign of just how incensed Tom really was. Harry hissed slightly in pain.

"Get the hell _off _me." He gave a shove to punctuate his words, and Tom stumbled back a few steps in shock, before his eyes narrowed. A distant part of Harry's mind wondered absently if pushing an enraged Dark Lord was really a good idea.

As Tom took two advanced steps forward again, Harry reached for his wand, only to feel something cold lock around either of his wrists. He glanced down, spotting a cobra twirling through the wooden underarm of the sofa. He suddenly regretted putting himself against it. Crap. This really wasn't good. Tom stopped before him, arms folded.

"You really think you can push me on my own turf, Harry?" he asked softly, dangerously. Harry shifted, or tried to.

"I just did," he smirked, tauntingly. The cobra tightened around his wrists, and he was almost certain that his fingers lost all blood circulation. Tom's hand closed simultaneously around his throat, yanking his head forward.

"Considering the urge I have to crucio you right now," he murmured. "You really should watch your tongue. **Answer the question." **

"Felt like getting adrenaline kicks," Harry spat. "What's it to you? I'm not one of your bloody death eaters."

His vision was beginning to blur, his mind screaming in pain. Tom's close proximity wasn't helping.

"No," Tom smiled, chillingly. "If you were you'd be dead."

"For what crime?" he breathed, outraged. He could NOT be bothered with this right now. Slender fingers left his throat, trailing to take the Prophecy out of his hand. Tom held it up, his eyes hard and as cold as liquid nitrogen.

"Treason," Tom replied coolly. "Idiocy. You almost got me and my 'bloody death eaters' killed tonight because of your stupid stunt."

"Yes, because that was my plan all along," Harry sneered. "I didn't drag you with me." He pulled at his wrists, but the snake didn't budge. God, his head.

"No, I just had - what the f*** is wrong with you?" Tom demanded suddenly. Harry blinked.

"_What?" _he asked incredulously. He wished Tom would settle for one conversation topic, he felt like he was going to throw up and holding one conversation was difficult enough at the moment, let alone two.

Tom's hand shot out, catching his jaw and turning his face this way and that in an inspecting manner.

"You look like your about to collapse," Tom snapped, before he suddenly went still, his expression closing "The mind link," he stated. It wasn't a question. The hand dropped.

"I'm fine," he snarled. "Except for having to put up with your schitzophrenic mood swings." The world was slipping beneath his feet, his ears were ringing. Tom's head tilted to one side.

The next second, there was nothing but blackness.

A/N: Um. Hi. So…I hope this is okay and that you enjoyed it. It's a continuation of the chapter "Ministry" if you didn't guess by the title. Sorry about the lack of fight scene, I'm absolutely terrible at writing them you see. If anyone of you would like to write it,. PM it to me and I'll slot it into the chapter =) Thanks for the reviews. Mucho love - The Fictionist


	12. Pain and Pleasure

Cygnus Lestrange was startled awake by the sound of screams; familiar, tortured screams that twisted both satisfaction, sympathy and annoyance in his stomach all at once.

Evans was having nightmares again.

He opened his eyes, staring irritably up at the ceiling of the Slytherin Dorms.

He heard Zevi, the sap, swear and immediately move to wake the emerald eyed boy, but before the Prince heir had even got two steps out of bed, before Abraxas could blearily sit up with his normally impeccable hair a dishevelled mess, as Alphard fumbled to cast a lumos, another figure had already shot across the dorm to the sleeping figure.

Tom.

He sat up further immediately, watching with narrowed eyes.  
Why was his Lord even bothering? It was uncharacteristic him to be so…concerned about another's welfare, and even a Hufflepuff could notice the way Tom was always touching the younger.

A restraining hand on the arm, tugs if he wanted him to move rather than orders, forcing eye contact through touch…Tom never touched _him_, or any one else, unless he had to. So why was he constantly making contact with Evans? Even if it was in such a relatively rough way? Tom was a Dark Wizard, if he ever did have an affair with someone it wouldn't be sweet, loving and gentle anyway.

It was so obvious he fancied Harry, the insolent half-blood. It made him sick, personally. What did Evans have that he didn't? Of course, the boy was powerful, but it wasn't like he was aware of it…and it would have been easy enough for someone as talented as Tom to simply jerk Harry around on puppet strings.

Tom could walk circles around everyone, he was magnificent, so why didn't he just do the same with Evans? The boy acted like a total Gryffindor sometimes, it was unbecoming.

"Harry," Tom said, urgently, shaking the boy's shoulder, before slipping into that seductive hiss of Parseltongue.

He only wished he knew what they were saying; but Harry woke up immediately at the sibilant words, jack-knifing upwards, straight into his lord's arms. He was struggling immediately, wide eyed, before growing slack at Tom's soft murmurings in his ear.

"Are you okay?" Alphard questioned. It was appalling, really, the way they all cared about the new boy as if he was something special.

Evan's posture was rigid, but almost leaning…melting…into his Lord's nonetheless in 'exhaustion' - and his lord wasn't doing anything to push him away! The opposite, his hand had dipped to curve around the other's rib cage, keeping him upright and _close_.

He knew what would happen next as well as anyone in their dorm did, and sure enough, Tom used the grip to haul Evans off the bed and onto his feet, with Evans stumbling further into his lord in his lack of balance.

Yeah right was the boy that tired that he couldn't even walk straight: he was doing it on purpose to get closer to his Lord.

What did they even do once they left the common room? He, for one, was going to find out. He watched as Tom near carried Evans out, still talking in that soft voice, before standing himself.

"What are you doing?" Abraxas hissed at him. He smirked back. It wasn't like he'd get in too much trouble; Tom liked him.

"Seeing what they do when they go off alone together like that - come if you will," he replied, not waiting for a response as he crept across the dormitory, keeping to the shadows.

"Don't be such an ass," Zevi spat at his back. "Besides, Tom wouldn't like to know you were following him."

He didn't look back, shutting the door quietly behind him. If they didn't want to know, then fine, but even his Lord's wrath was better than his dismissal right now. At least then he would be _seen. _

He cast a notice me not charm, knowing it was more likely to be successful than any massive usage of power; Tom, and even Evans in his obliviousness in such matters, would zone in on it immediately. That was, he supposed, one thing they shared…they both drifted towards and zoned on magic like moths to a flame.

The two hadn't left, but were sitting in the empty common room, faces lit in the flickering flames of the fire. He sneaked around the edge of the room to a get a better view.

It was reckless, but…Tom didn't even look up, his attention riveted by Evans.

"What was it this time?" his lord questioned. Evans was silent, staring straight ahead, taut as a tightrope wire. "Hey," Tom's voice sharpened slightly, his pale fingers flashing out, turning Evan's face to him, the grip firm.

Harry's head jolted back at the touch, like some skittish animal, but it only caused his lord's grip to constrict further, dominating, placing back equal pressure in response to keep the head in place.

A nail traced over Evans lower lip when the boy stilled, as if to tease the words out, the expression on his Lord's features commanding and _intense._

There was another hiss of parseltongue, and he guessed Tom had just repeated his question.

"Graveyard," Evans bit out, snappishly, "what else? And do you mind getting off me, if anyone saw us they'd think you were hitting on me."

A smirk coloured Tom's face at that response, for some odd reason, and his Lord leaned closer, so close they were almost touching.

"Maybe I am," Tom murmured, eyes glittering. "There's no one here. We're alone in the middle of the night. There's even candles, romantic no?"

Harry tilted his head

."Er…no," Evans replied instantly, defiantly, but he noticed Evans wasn't leaning away either. "And we both know that you don't do romance, if you did, you'd know the time wouldn't be to start after I just woke up from a nightmare about certain mass murders trying to kill me."

"I don't know," Tom was grinning now, and he couldn't think why, "they say that pain and pleasure are closely linked." The grip on Evan's jaw tightened at this, and he saw Evan's stifle a wince. "Pain," Tom said, in a explanatory tone. The grip loosened, and one of those slender fingers traced over Evan's mouth once more when he opened his mouth to reply (he noticed that Evans clamped his lips shut very quickly again). "Pleasure. See?"

The hand withdrew immediately after the words were said, Tom lounging back into the cushions of the sofa, while Harry nearly lurched at the sudden change in movement, and the lack of the other keeping him upright.

"They say the lips are very sensitive," his Lord continued, a smirk on his face. "I can teach you all about it, if you want, I'm a _top_ student."

"You're a bastard," Evans sneered in response, causing him to gape at the audacity, while Evans began shakily starting to rise. "I'm going back to bed," he said.

Lestrange startled, moving rapidly back to the dorm, only to pause as Evans was tugged back down onto the sofa, lazily. The strange amusement had vanished entirely from Tom's face now, his eyes hard.

"This can't go on," his lord said. Evans arched his brows, glancing pointedly at Tom's grip on his arm.

"I know," he replied. "If you keep this up people are going to begin to get the wrong impression about us."

"The nightmares, Potter_," _Tom clarified, dangerously. Potter? Why was he calling Evans Potter? He did look a bit like Leonard Potter, but…no…it was getting constantly woken up every night, it was playing tricks on his hearing…

"They're going to kill you."

"Sucks for you. Must get boring around here with no one to play with," Evans drawled, unmoved.

He expected Tom to snap back at that, make Harry suffer for his insolence, but he merely continued, his tone ferocious and unyielding.

"You're barely functioning," his lord continued venomously, "a couple of minutes a go you could barely walk straight without assistance. You're exhausted!"

"Then ignore me if it bothers you so," Evans suggested, seeming to lose his, rather short, temper. "Then you won't have to worry about me breaking up your beauty sleep."

Harry yanked his arm away, standing up again, striding towards the dorm (which he himself quickly finished hurrying to, trying to make sure he was in bed before Tom entered again.)

It turned out, once again, that he needn't have bothered with his haste.

Tom was up on his feet in seconds, across the room in what seemed like next even less than that. There was a violent thud as Evan's back hit the wall, Riddle pinning him there with one hand splayed across the smaller Slytherin's chest, his other arm resting on the wall next to them, cage like.

They were both breathing hard, pressed against each other, lips barely inches other part.

If he couldn't hear his lord speak, he would have sworn they were doing something else with their mouths.

"You're not really getting it, are you, sweetheart? _I _decide when we are done, and _I _wasn't finished."

"And _I_," Evans growled, "am not one of your Death Eaters-"

"-God damn it, Harry!" Tom hissed, "I'm trying to help you. Look at yourself; you're a wreck."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Evans demanded, incredulous, his voice cracking. "But I suppose I can't expect _you _to understand or empathise with something that involves a conscience; you don't have a bloody heart, and if you did, it would be frozen solid."

He heard Tom breathe deeply, struggling for patience, his free hand clenching into a fist, violent, but he responded without pause.

"Whereas your heart bleeds so much that it's destroying you from the inside out; so I suppose we make quite the couple."

They were a couple! This was proof! From the horse's mouth. There was a moment of silence, oppressive.

"Why do you even care?" Evans whispered after a moment, and Lestrange found himself tense with anticipation for the answer.

"Because you're fun to play with, and broken toys are no fun," Tom sneered.

His heart almost swelled relief. Oh thank god that was all it was…but his hopes were shattered again, within an instant, at the heavy sigh that followed.

"I just _do, _okay. That is enough." His Lord's tone brooked no further questions. Evans was silent, his lack of repartee speaking louder than he ever could.

"There's nothing you can do," Harry said finally, quietly.

"Then we will find something," Tom replied confidently. "Even if I have to force a sleeping draught down your throat," There was a definite hint of threat in the last few words, but Evans laughed.

"My hero," he murmured sarcastically, studying the other.

The argument seemed to have somehow been resolved, whatever the argument was, and the duo seemed to slowly become aware of their extremely close position.

Harry coughed slightly, a flush coming to his cheeks. Tom seemed completely unbothered, appraising the figure in front of him, causing Evans to push the other back lightly.

"Do you ever actually eat?" Tom questioned, frowning. "You're really skinny."

Evans threw his hands up in the air in frustration, rolling his eyes.

"For god's sake, don't start! Honestly, there's no pleasing some people…"

"Oh I'm pretty sure I could please you…" Tom drawled, winking.

Having seen enough, Lestrange slunk back to the dorm room.

At least Tom should get over this infatuation soon enough…

* * *

A/N: So, here is your reward for 1000 reviews on Fate's Favourite (thank you!). I hope you enjoyed it, but let me explain it...

Okay, I had a mixed reception to my initial suggestion, with some people claiming that the 'non slash' aspect of my story was what made it unique, and so forth. They also noted that i was clearly uncomfortable with the idea; then came the suggestion that I do it from someone else's POV, because if everyone else thinks they're a couple...

And well, you'll be able to tell if any of your ideas are in here. ;)

PLEASE give me some feedback, because i'm really unsure and nervous because this is a new area for me, even if it is "this is so disappointing, you're a failure when you deliberately write anything leaning towards slash," as, like I said, this is my first time making any sort of attempt or deliberate allusion in that direction.

I will happily answer any questions you have. :)

PS: I can rewrite if it is appallingly disappointing...


	13. Challenge

"This is the graveyard." Tom's voice was not questioning; it was a statement

."Yes, this is a graveyard." Harry said in a falsely cheery voice, ignoring the nausea in his head and stomach, and trying to stall, although knowing Tom would draw it from him.

"No, this is THE Graveyard. You know what I meant, don't play dumb." Tom said with a cold glare, stalking over to Harry. Harry winced.

"Well, sure, this is the graveyard. Which graveyard are we talking about again?" Harry said with a slight high pitch to his voice, not wanting to admit it but knowing he would have to as his nausea was growing.

Tom stopped where he was, and his face transformed into a calm, happy even, mask.

"Oh, Harry," Tom purred, "Don't you know which Graveyard? After all, aren't you the one who was here?" Tom strolled over to Harry and placed his forehead against Harry's. Harry gulped.

"Oh, uh, yeah, abo-" Harry stopped and sighed. "It's the Graveyard, yes. But I didn't, well, I…"

"You didn't what?" Tom said with his forehead still against Harry's. Harry's eyes darted around, and he swallowed, uncomfortable with the position.

"I didn't expect us to come here, for one." Harry said quietly.

"Oh, didn't you?" Tom turned on his heel and stalked over to his father's grave, trailing his finger along the wing of the angel. "Did you not think I would want to see my father's grave?"

Tom turned to Harry, his face no longer calm but now stormy.

"Do you want us to go somewhere else? Do I have to come back, alone?" Tom growled

."Well, no I can, I… maybe it would be best." Harry said, worrying his lip. "It's nausea-" Harry said before gagging and nearly throwing up. "We should leave. I'm sorry."

* * *

A/N: This was PintoNess' awesome entry to the challenge I set a couple of chapters back. I hope you like it, and i'm sure they would appreciate some feedback =)


	14. Fear or Fancy

Harry tried to remember why he was doing this again, but continued persistently. Maybe he was just ridiculously stubborn. Damn Zevi for making him worry.

"Tom," he repeated, following after the other into the Room of Requirement, ignoring the pointed glare sent back in his direction, indicating that he should stop pushing.

He leaned against the door, watching Tom's taut posture carefully. The other's body language was too…rigid, contained even by the Slytherin's Heirs impeccable sense of drive and self-control.

Harry folded his arms across his chest.

"Don't shut me out, something's bothering you…what is it? Is it the lessons with Dumbledore?"

Tom's eyes shot to his at this, piercing through his skin like shards of shadowed sapphires, his expression utterly cold. T

hen, he smiled, slightly, coyly, causing Harry's mind to flash back to the Astronomy tower. There was that same twisted gleam in Tom's eyes now, that same game, as the other strolled back towards him.

"Oh Harry, do you really want to get into another discussion about _feelings _with me?" he asked, lightly, dangerously. Harry resisted the urge to swallow, cursing that he hadn't foreseen this and moved himself away from all surfaces that he could be trapped by.

But he held his ground. Tom wouldn't actually do anything, not now. As he guessed, the other stopped right in front of him, but didn't touch.

"I don't know," Harry said, deliberately deciding to take this in the literal sense of 'feelings' rather than that…other situation Tom could be inferring to. "I reckon it might do you good…not necessarily to talk to me, but someone. Everyone needs someone."

"Hmmm…you're babbling more drivel than normal," Tom noted, staring at him, grinning wolfishly, "am I making you nervous?"

"Not at all," Harry said defiantly, returning the gaze. "So, Dumbledore? What's bothering you about his lessons? The fact that I'm having them, or that you don't know what they're about?" he questioned, eyes sharp for any nuances of Tom's countenance that could reveal answers that his tongue would deny.

The other's hand came up, slowly, tilting his jaw this way and that, inspecting. Harry felt himself go as tense as Tom, his muscles bunching under slender fingers.

"Uncertainty…not a very nice emotion, but neither one I experience often," Tom remarked, a lilt of warning in his tone.

Any sane person would have stopped pushing by now…but as always, his sanity had long been somewhat debatable. Why was he doing this again?

"Or is it something else, entirely?" Harry questioned, studying Tom thoughtfully, trying to ignore how the hands had now moved, trailing to flitter across his pulse points.

"Anxiety…redundant, as I prefer to do something about the situation if I find it displeases me," Tom continued, with a suggestion that he was replying to something…but Harry didn't see how it was him.

His unease was growing.

"But I reckon it's the Dumbledore thing," Harry persisted, not breaking their gazes, not letting his breath show anything other than calm. "Because your moodiness peaks around the time they happen. So, are you going to tell me what it is you don't like about them, or not? Perhaps I should just keep guessing?" he challenged.

Tom's head tilted closer, breath tickling his ear, as he whispered his next response.

"**Curiosity…killed the cat, or is the lion? But I will admit** **freely to that particular emotion."**

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, praying for the scraps of his patience at the rather pointed reference to lions, and thus, Gryffindors and therefore himself.

Sometimes you had to be a bloody saint to deal with Tom.

"We're not talking about _my _feelings," he bit out, through gritted teeth, trying to keep a hold on his own less impeccable self-control. "We're talking about yours…will you back off a bit?" he was alarmed to note that his voice had risen slightly at the last part.

There went the control.

"I'm not falling for this again," he snapped, "I know perfectly well you're straight. So cut it out."

"Confusion," Tom remarked, continuing down his apparent list of emotions, "…is undesirable."

He could practically hear the smirk in the other's voice, and got a very bad intuition in his gut.

"Seriously, it's not going to work. I don't know what you're trying to achieve…" he argued.

Harry could feel panic swelling in his insides now, a vulnerability that he despised, but that Tom seemed to be able to pinpoint in every given scenario like a shark could a drop of blood ten miles away.

Tom knew perfectly well that Harry didn't like this, and was extremely ill at ease.

Stupid sadistic Psychopaths. He hated them; and this one in particular.

"Fear…" Tom murmured, leaning back slightly now, to see his face once more, but not nearly far enough. "Causes pupils to dilate, much like pupils do when you're attracted to someone." Tom paused. "Tell me, hero, do you fear me or fancy me?"

Freaking hell. This was a nightmare.

As if he would ever admit to either of those (as Tom damn well knew) if he felt them in regards to Tom, which he _didn't! _He licked his dry lips, heart pounding, continuing his questioning, trying to maintain the strength in his tone and not let it falter into nothing.

He was not backing off. Tom could tease all he liked, and bait…but Harry could handle it if he didn't do anything. Probably. But he wasn't going to do anything.

"If its jealousy or possessiveness I will punch you," Harry warned, trying to stick to the earlier line of conversation as if their wasn't some whole other…issue going on here. "Because that would be lame and ridic-what the hell do you-?"

Harry couldn't breathe, a crushing pressure on his lips, demanding, furious, with vivid flashes of the connection sparking, tingling like popping candy, fingers fisted and tugging violent at his hair.

A moment later it was gone, leaving him absolutely shocked and staring at the other numbly, mentally freaking out. He tried to jerk his hands free, automatically, to shove the other away, but he couldn't move. Helpless.

"Did you just kiss-you just-don't-" He shuddered, violently, his brain turning to a mush unable to function.

He now felt completely lost. Tom was straight. Tom was twisted. Tom was more unpredictable than Harry had ever guessed, forcibly removing any ground he'd had beneath his feet.

"-Are you enjoying this conversation on feelings? We can continue it if you like?" Tom questioned, a smirk on his lips, but his eyes were ablaze with a deadly danger.

Tom didn't want to talk about feelings; and knew from experience just what would make Harry stop, if he really wanted to. Tom was a total bastard.

When he didn't respond, the young Dark Lord's hand dropped to his shirt, playing with the collar, an eyebrow arched in a silent repeat of his query.

Just like in the Astronomy tower, but far more serious. Harry's mind was racing.

When they'd…when Tom had…the point was that he'd felt the emotions as the link between their minds somehow collapsed due to…what just happened.

Harry looked away, eyes downcast, in answer. His hands were released and returned to his sides.

"Good," Tom said softly. "Pleasure talking about feelings with you - no more repeats needed, then?"

It was the sick victory in the other's voice that caused Harry's temper to snap, his hands flying forwards to tug the other towards him. The next second, emotions were blazing in his mind, and he used it to think the spell he needed.

He felt Tom jerk away at the invasion, but tightened his grip before shoving the other away again after a minute. He returned the smirk, without triumph, aware that he'd just played a move that he could never take back…one that shifted and shattered their old dynamic to something new.

"Legilimency…useful," he offered, spitefully.

Tom was staring at him, a look of unreserved surprise on his face, his hair a mess.

"You-"

"Bye Tom," Harry said sharply, turning and walking out the room.

He needed to think.

This day sucked.

* * *

A/N: Well, 1500 reviews on Fate's Favourite…and my second attempt at a slash within the boundaries of my FF world. Note, the actual story is still never going to be slash. EVER. I like their non-slash dynamic, and frankly, the writer gets veto ;) 

Now, I shall go hide before I come to my senses and go with a safer reward choice….someone suggested this idea to me, can't remember who...either way, I can't call myself a writer if I don't ever do something that challenges my comfort zone...in this case rather heavily. I apologise if it was crap.

Eek. Can't believe I did this…note, I do take requests (non slash) for DD too. 


	15. Help and Healing

_Cherry611: My challenge for you is a reverse scenario where Tom has some sort of breakdown and Harry takes up Tom's role in comforting him. Or maybe Tom gets sick or injured and pulls a "I'm fine."_

_I, being the type of writer who caters to my audience (or so I'm told) attempted to oblige. I apologise before hand…_

* * *

Harry entered the Slytherin Common Room, immediately noting the hushed, subdued and marginally fearful atmosphere. The tension in the air was tangible, and thrummed along his blood like the beat of a tribal drum.

"Salazar," Abraxas was on his feet in seconds, striding towards him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. "Harry, thank god you're here - maybe he'll talk to you."

"How is he?" Harry asked softly. "I heard about what happened."

Some students with strong light side connections had apparently snuck up on Tom from behind, about ten to one, and proceeded to beat the crap out of him.

Most of them were in the hospital wing due to being on the wrong end of the Slytherin Heir's wand, one of them was in St Mungo's, and the remaining two were trembling in their respective common rooms.

Tom had then promptly strode away even as he was issued detention, gone into the dorm room, and not come out since. That was all about ten minutes ago, apparently.

Abraxas shrugged, hesitantly, eyes wide and fearful.

"Well, he says he's fine, of course, but…he looked pretty beat up, and if you're talking mentally…well, he seems okay, but it's Tom, so you can never really tell."

"Will you talk to him?" Zevi asked.

Harry could feel the heavy weight of all of Slytherin's pleading gazes, urging, begging him to agree. He nodded, moving to the door.

They didn't need to ask. He would have done it anyway; and probably cursed them if they'd tried to stop him.

He didn't knock, knowing Tom wouldn't answer, and simply walked in, hands raised slightly in surrender. He also automatically dodged. It was lucky he did, for a curse narrowly missed him.

"Hey-easy-it's me!" he said quickly. "I come in peace, all that jazz."

Tom sighed irritably, but lowered his wand.

"Go away. I'm not in the mood."

Harry winced at the sight of the young Dark Lord.

His eye was swelling quite badly, his lip cut, his nose showing signs of being healed recently and several cuts covered what skin Harry could see.

Tom also held himself delicately, so Harry would conclude that his ribs had been fixed recently too.

It probably wasn't good that he was so aware as to signs of injury that he could pick that up from across the room.

He crossed over, any uncertainty at the situation blinded and smacked aside by fury and concern, coming to a stop before the bed where the other was sitting.

Tom glared at him, eyes venomous, chin jutted upwards slightly in defiance. Harry tilted his head, acting more measured than he felt.

"They did a number on you, didn't they?" he whistled. "You look terrible."

Tom's head jerked away, not looking at him, the yew wand twitching in his hand. Harry instantly, gently, caught the wrist that made moves to direct it in his direction. "Are you alright?" he questioned, softly, before wanted to face palm at the stupidity of his asking.

"I'm fine," Tom said stiffly. "Though I'd like to be left in _peace._"

Harry ignored this, carefully releasing Tom's hand and grasping his jaw to inspect the damage. He winced on empathy alone. It looked rather painful.

After a moment he let go again, merely studying the other. He wasn't completely sure what to do - normally if one of them who was injured or hurt it was, ironically, Tom in the hero/comforter role - and he was certain that any attempt of support offered by him would be harshly rejected as pity, or something similar. Still.

He wasn't about to do nothing if Tom was suffering.

He walked over the bathroom, grabbing a flannel and some ice. He had no clue how Tom was mentally feeling, and Tom was _not_ going to open up if he already felt physically vulnerable…so…first things first, take care of the physical injuries. Tom had got rid of the blood himself already.

He felt Tom's eyes on him as he approached again, summoning a bed side table to dump his work in progress impromptu first aid kit on. He then went to his trunk and got out some healing potions and balms that he had.

He'd picked keeping his own medical supply off Tom. Domestic Violence starter kit whatever, but it was useful for avoiding Madame Pomfrey's lair for non serious wounds, and he was glad for it now.

Tom watched him warily, but he reached for the flannel without comment, wrapping it around the ice and holding it to his face, features tightening fractionally.

"What are your injuries?" Harry said, trying to keep this vaguely non awkward and professional. Tom stared at him for a moment, and Harry raised his brows in prompt.

"I'm fine," Tom muttered, again, after a few seconds.

"Yeah?" Harry returned, dryly, "cause you look just peachy."

Tom's glared at him again, shifting angrily, and Harry sighed. Too fast; too far.

"Sorry," he murmured, "I'm not good at this. Should probably revoke my 'hero' status or something…but I'm trying to help…let me help."

"I don't need help," Tom snapped, through gritted teeth.

"I know," Harry said, cautiously, conscious that he was treading on a very thin line. "But I'm offering anyway."

He paused again, the line wobbling as he balanced on a knife edge. He now felt like he was attempting to cartwheel on it and remaining standing with what he was about to continue with.

"You know, it doesn't…reflect badly on you to accept my help, right?" he said. "I'm not going to, um, judge you on it, if that's what you're worried about…I mean, come on, you've seen me in far worse positions before."

He went for a smile. Tom regarded him flatly, but Harry took his silence as a good sign.

"I shouldn't have let them get the drop on me," Tom said, his voice sounding for all the world utterly disinterested.

Harry shrugged, maintaining his façade of casualness, though he wanted to rage and punch the bastards in the hospital wing.

"Please," he scoffed, lightly, "it was ten on one. I'd say the fact you didn't end up St Mungo's yourself is highly impressive."

"I'd have thought you'd give me some sanctimonious lecture on not attacking innocent people, and being over violent," Tom replied, appraising him intently. "Instead, that was almost a compliment. I'm shocked."

"Yeah, well, I reckon they bloody deserved it," Harry said, unable to quite keep all of his emotions out of his voice. He swallowed, awkwardly.

If Tom hadn't lashed out at them, Harry most definitely would have done so. Tom smiled, just slightly, lowering the icepack to attend to the bruise balm for his eye.

"You do, do you?" Tom drawled. Harry met his gaze squarely, not shying away from the intense scrutiny.

"You doubt that?" he returned. There was some silence, before he spoke again. "Here, give me your arm," he instructed. "I should be able to seal the cuts without giving you a bunch of scars."

"Should?" Tom repeated. "If you're trying to fill me with some confidence in your healing abilities, that's not the most convincing lexical choice..."

But he held out the appendage.

* * *

A/N: So…that was ridiculously difficult. But you know, I tried. I might make another attempt =/


	16. Training Rules

Harry sliced spells through the training dummies, one after another - cutting, incinerating, shredding, dispelling, stunning and dodging.

His whole body ached, his stomach twisted and his muscles felt like lead. But he kept going.

Cutting, incinerating, shredding, stunning and dodging. He heard the door open and almost lashed out with a curse, stopping himself in the last moment.

Tom.

He cancelled out the dummies, momentarily, leaning over his legs and panting desperately for breath. He dared not sit down, in fear of passing out. He got the room to call up a water dispenser, grabbing a cup and practically inhaling the water in deep, thirsty gulps.

Tom folded his arms across his chest, studying him, his expression hard.

"This has got to stop, hero," the Slytherin Heir said quietly. Harry poured himself another drink, leaning against the wall, downing another cupful in one, before crunching the plastic in his hand and aiming for the bin. It missed by about a metre. His arm muscles burned.

"I'm fine," he said.

"You've been at this for over twenty four hours," Tom snapped. "No food, no rest…what the hell do you think you're playing at?"

"I'm training," Harry returned tightly.

He adjusted his grip on his wand, setting the dummies to life again and starting over. The next moment they all slumped, dead. Harry turned to glare at Tom for the intervention.

"You know, when I call you 'hero,' I don't mean it as a compliment," the other said flatly, approaching him, eyes dark. "Stop. Just…stop."

"Lack of compliment noted," Harry replied. "Now, re-start the dummies. I'm not finished."

"Yes you are," Tom hissed, looking furious, approaching him with rapid strides. "You're killing yourself. Do you really think working yourself to exhaustion is going to help anyone? You look like a breeze could blow you over."

"Good thing it's not windy inside then," Harry spat, tired and irritable. "Get out of my way."

He attempted to move past the other to manually start a dummy, but a vice like grip caught his arm, reeling him back.

"This is not up for discussion," Tom said, voice void of compromise or amusement.

"You don't get to tell me what to do!" Harry snarled, anger bubbling in his stomach. "_You_ are not the one who has to catch up on fifty years of magical experience if they want to survive past their seventeenth birthday!"

Tom's grip turned painful, fingers white-knuckled in their rigid hold.

"And if _you_ hope to do that," Tom murmured into his ear, dangerously, "I suggest you take better care of yourself, or I'll do it for you."

"I can take care of myself, I'm not a child," Harry returned coldly.

Tom simply arched a brow, shoving him backwards and nearly causing him to fall over, as the young Dark Lord twirled his wand into an offensive duelling stance.

"Then prove it," Tom challenged.

Harry pointed his wand out, his body screaming in protest at the continued movement, his vision mildly hazy…but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

The next second, they were duelling, volleys of spells dancing between the two of them and shattering objects as they missed, or were deflected.

The difference between Tom and the generic dummies was immediate, and he was on the defensive instantly, stumbling as he tried to keep up. Tom suddenly seemed so fast, so fluid, and so very talented with a wand. God, he was screwed. But he duelled anyway.

It lasted for all of five minutes, and then he was crashing onto his back, head smacking against the floor, crumpled.

He took a moment to close his eyes, wanting to just lie there with his head spinning, but he crawled up to his feet, more spells on his tongue, welded onto the forefront of his recall system by extensive, intensive training.

And with a sickening crack to the back of his skull; the world went black.

Harry woke up to white, and recognised it with a groan in the back of his throat. The hospital wing. He narrowed his eyes balefully at the figure that strode in as he regained consciousness, dropping into the seat by his bed.

"You _hit_ me," he accused.

"Yes, and the training dummy's arm weighed a ton, if you wanted to know," Tom replied in a cheerful tone of voice.

"That's cheating," Harry growled.

"All's fair in love and war, sweetheart, that's just rule one," the Slytherin Heir smirked.

Harry made a noise of disgust, moving to swing his legs out of bed and sneak out before Pomfrey came back. He had to train!

He was all rested now, wasn't he? It wasn't like he did anything while he was unconscious…he'd grab a sandwich from the kitchens on the way, he was, admittedly, starving.

Something caught his ankle, preventing the movement.

Wide eyed, Harry pushed the duvet aside, before his head shot up to Tom's face.

"You had me _chained_ to my bed!" he demanded, incredulously.

"Considering you were about to run, within five minutes of waking up, I'd say it was a good call," Tom returned. The lightness of his tone was belied by the deadly gravity in his gaze.

Harry yanked angrily at his foot, trying to see if he could tug it loose somehow. He knew already that Tom would have taken his wand.

The young Dark Lord watched him impassively, lounging in his chair.

"Take it off," Harry snapped. Tom merely blinked at him. Harry sighed, heavily, pulling at his foot again.

"Rule two of training," Tom said, softly, menacingly, "don't over do it, or you'll do more harm than good."

The Slytherin Heir cast a tempus charm for the time, before rising to a standard.

"Madame Pomfrey will arrange some food to be brought to you if you call her," he continued, calmly, ignoring Harry's outraged expression. "She also has the key to release you once you're in _full_ health."

"You are not just going to leave me here with - her - Tom! - Tom?" he called after the other, as Tom turned and walked away. "Riddle! You bastard!" He lobbed a pillow (the only thing at hand) at the other's back.

Tom stopped at the door, assessing him coolly, with a mocking smile.

"I'd have thought you'd have wanted something comfortable to lie against…my mistake. You can chuck them at the door instead if it makes you feel better."

"I'm not a bloody child…you can't just-"

"I'll come visit you later," Tom interrupted, "if you're a good boy."

"Don't patronise me-"

"Who knows," Tom continued, smoothly, "if I hear good things I might even bring you some books to help your training…and don't think you can wheedle them off Zevi or Granger, I've told them all to let you _rest_ because you're killing yourself with exhaustion…they didn't take that too well…expect a lecture."

Harry gaped, infuriated. Salazar, Tom actually seemed serious.

"Tom…" he began, now feeling a tad wary through his rage.

"I told you to stop," Tom said, pleasantly. "So rest up, darling, before I break your arms too."

He shut the door behind him.

Harry flopped back onto the bed, frowning at the lack of pillows, scowling at the ceiling.

Shit.

* * *

_" I really didnt know you excepted challenges so here's mine: What if Harry was training all weekend without sleep or food Tom finds him and tries to get him to eat and sleep." - Primcartoons_

Do you guys like these random oneshot thinges, or would you prefer I spent my time on something else? Like even more Fate's Favourite? Thanks for the reviews. I hope you enjoyed it, and that I did the scenario justice.


	17. Drunken Deductions

Harry blinked at the sight before him, mind partially frozen.

_What the hell?_

He made his way over cautiously, wondering if he was hallucinating or something.

Nope, it was Tom. The other flipped a head around at his approach, a bottle in his hands, and one on the floor next to him.

"Are you _drunk_?" Harry demanded incredulously. Tom rolled his eyes.

"Only the littlest bit - come, sit darling, join me." Tom patted the seat next to him on the bench.

His voice was slurred slightly. Yeah, Harry was sure it was just the 'littlest bit.'

He glanced around the Hogwarts grounds - they were by the lake, which was a vast black coldness at his back, and there was a delicate blanket of snow on the ground. It was early January. The temperature was bitterly cold, and Harry rubbed his already bluing hands together, tugging his jacket around him tighter, surveying the other, unmoving.

Tom was wearing a cloak, but it was a thin one, and open to let the winds howl across his bare arms. He had nothing but a t-shirt beneath. Harry swore.

"For Salazar's sake," he muttered, "you must be freezing. What are you even doing out here?"

"Drinking," Tom lifted his bottle up in toast, before taking another long swig.

"_Why_?"

"Well, for one, it keeps me warm," Tom said, waving impatiently again for him to sit.

Harry dithered on the spot, feet crunching in the snow, white crystals on his really not winter shoes

."Another thing that keeps you warm, amazingly enough, is not coming out in absurd temperatures with stupid amounts of clothing on," he replied dryly. "Come on, come inside," he urged.

Tom glanced at his offered hand, taking it, and just as Harry was about to start tugging Tom up towards the castle, the Slytherin Heir yanked hard, so that he was tumbling down onto the snow by Tom's feet. The young Dark Lord smirked, laughing openly.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the childishness of the action, huffing, making to get up, only for Tom's - freezing! - hands to come around his waist and pull him to a clumsy perch on the bench. The hands lingered, like frost clinging to a plant.

"You're hot," Tom stated in explanation, when he twisted his head around to stare at the other, bemused.

"And you're _very_ cold," Harry returned, rolling his eyes. "Seriously. Come inside, you're going to get ill or something, and Merlin knows you'd be even more unbearable-ouch!" he yelped. "Did you just pinch me!"

"I'm not unbearable," Tom snapped sulkily, eyes dark and dangerous. Harry prayed for patience, and a saint like level of it too.

"No, you're just drunk," he sighed. "And going to get hypothermia at this rate…come inside, alright? You can drink in the common room - how did you even get your hands on that stuff?"

"By being a Gee-nius," Tom drawled, mood apparently switching to a relatively good one again…and Harry thought he had mood swings when he was sober! "Did you know," Tom began, in a thoughtful tone of voice, "that to treat and prevent hypothermia you're supposed to both take your clothes off and share body heat in a sleeping bag or something."

Tom took another swig from his bottle, and, exasperated, Harry made a lunge for it, only for Tom to dodge his arm out of the way.

"Now I know you're drunk," Harry muttered.

"It's true!"

"I don't care if it's true, I'm not stripping in the middle of Hogwarts to indulge your sudden need to be outside in the dead of winter, if that's what you're suggesting," Harry retorted, torn between amusement, horror and irritation. "Especially not when there's a lovely heated castle just over there that we could go to."

Tom simply looked sideways at him for a moment, almost seeming sober with the assessing expression he had. The next words ruined the effect.

"You should be more drunk," the Slytherin Heir told him, in a decisive tone of voice.

Harry spluttered, shaking his head, speechless, and shivering by now. Tom took another drink, still studying him, before offering the bottle.

Harry took it, more to stop Tom from drinking it than anything else, taking a swig of the liquid, feeling it burn down his throat and settle like a ball of warmth in his stomach.

"Why are you out here getting pissed Tom?" he asked, finally, quietly.

"Cause I want to," Tom said.

"Why?" Harry pressed.

"Cause I need to think."

"…And the firewhiskey is a great help to your mental capacities?" Harry questioned sceptically.

"Slows it down so I can pick past my barriers," Tom said. Harry realised his verbal inhibitions must be lowered again. It would be cruel to take advantage of that…

"Your barriers?"

"Walls I put the stuff I don't like thinking about behind," Tom said, still staring at him. "You're cold."

"It's minus degrees out here!" Harry exclaimed. "of course I'm cold, that's why I'm trying to convince you to continue this _inside."_

"You're not a Muggle," Tom snapped. Harry's brow furrowed.

"What-?" He started, trying to catch up with the conversation steps that must have been skipped.

Tom sighed, heavily, before grasping Harry's arm in a vice like grip and yanking him closer, so close that they were completely pressed up together, while he unbuttoned his cloak with the other hand. The next second, Harry was enveloped in a blissful heat, like a hot water bottle, and his eyes widened. The soft, silky material draped around his shoulders, Tom's hand kept it, and him, in place.

Heating charm. Tom had a heating charm on his clothes and cloak.

Of course.

He wouldn't be so stupid, even drunk, to be freezing to death. Tom looked at him again, breath tickling his hair when he spoke.

"You're not a Muggle," Tom repeated. Harry nodded, understanding this time, and directed a heating charm at his own attire. Tom smiled slightly in approval.

"So what are you trying to get at, that you normally avoid?" Harry asked again, after a moment.

"Time," Tom said, with an air of disgust. And with that, Harry froze once more.

"Time?" he repeated, shakily, hardly daring to hope. "What about it?"

Tom shot him a dark look.

"Wondering why I'm bothering, when I could smash it to pieces with a couple of _free_ choices..."

"Well," Harry said, carefully, and feeling oddly hollow. Trust Tom to get so…! When he was drunk, so introspective and… "I have been telling you that all along. Why is that something you don't want to think about?…you should go for it," he said. His insides twisted painfully.

"To be more specific, I'm trying to figure out what it is about you that makes becoming _him_, in that weak variant, so plausible to my future." Tom turned to face him more directly, scrutinising.

"I can't answer that," Harry said, softly. "I personally have no i-"

"-Finish that sentence and I will throw you in the lake," Tom promised, clapping his arm, a bit too hard. Harry watched the other warily.

If Tom was sober, he would have pushed, but as he wasn't…Harry really didn't know what he would do. He held Tom's gaze for a moment, before looking away.

"There's something about you Harry," Tom continued, softly, eyes burning into his skull. "And I can't quite put my finger on it."

"I don't understand why you're tying yourself to a future you don't want," Harry said, quietly, wondering if Tom's intoxication and self-claimed lowered verbal inhibitions would finally get him answers.

It wasn't taking advantage; it was using his resources. Okay. It was taking advantage! He was sure Tom would do exactly the same if their roles were reversed.

"I know you say you can't be _Tom_ without me, but…surely…you can be a different Tom? And a different Voldemort?"

It hurt to say that, but he could accept it.

"And I could meet some new sparkling, utterly boring Harry Potter that is not mine, and never will be. It wouldn't be the same," Tom said, with a distinct grumpiness.

"I'm yours now?" Harry raised a brow. "I'm not a possession."

"But you're mine all the same," Tom said, in a tone of great satisfaction. "You wouldn't be who you are now without me."

"By that logic, that could technically make _you_ mine as well," Harry pointed out, wondering when the conversation had got this surreal.

"Of course," Tom gave him an odd look. "We belong together. I've been telling you that for ages." Harry blinked.

"I'm starting to see where the rumours are coming from…" he said, shakily, unnerved by the intensity of Tom's emotions. "It's still ridiculous though," he added quickly, rolling his eyes under Tom's drunk but undoubtedly attentive stare. "Us fancying each other would be too fairy-story…fairytale gone bad."

He was rambling, and Tom turned to look at him more directly, twisting on the bench. Harry looked down at the bottle in his hands.

"I should stop drinking this stuff," he said, decisively, though he knew wasn't even tipsy.

"Do I fancy you?" Tom questioned after a moment, with a nuance of realisation in his tone, frowning slightly. Harry could feel his cheeks reddening.

"I was just saying you- but - you're asking me if you fancy me?" he stammered, nonplussed. "How would I know?"

"Well, you seem so certain that we don't, therefore you must know what it feels like to fancy someone to be able to compare," Tom said, with an irritating logic.

He was going to die of embarrassment.

"Um," he paused, running a hand through his hair. "You just know, don't you?"

Tom's head tilted.

"So you haven't fancied anyone then?" he clarified.

"I, ye-well, kind of. Of course. Cho. Except she liked Cedric. Um….aren't you supposed to be a genius? Shouldn't you know all this stuff already?" Harry muttered.

"So what did fancying her feel like?" Tom asked. There was a silence, in which the other regarded him expectantly.

"…seriously?" Harry questioned. "You're asking me what it felt like to fancy someone? Have you never fancied anyone before?"

"I don't know," Tom said. "What does fancying someone feel like?"

At his incredulous look, Tom's eyes narrowed. "Psychopath," he reminded, testily.

Harry licked his dry lips, trying to think back to the few girly conversations Hermione had ever attempted with him, and Cho. It seemed so pale now.

"Er, you think they're pretty? Feel nervous around them? Want to spend time with them?"

"You don't sound very convinced," Tom noted, reaching for the bottle again. Harry took another swig, not handing it over, deciding Tom was drunk enough for pursuing this conversation, whereas he too sober to be having and dealing with it.

"It's different for everyone," he snapped, defensively. Tom smirked.

"Am I making you flustered?"

"No!" Harry growled. Tom's smirk broadened, before vanishing to a pensive, slightly irritable expression.

"Well, I don't think you're hideous…and I'm never nervous, and I suppose your company is tolerable, and I do find myself seeking it a lot." Tom studied him, with a clinical expression at odds with what answers he was searching. "Do you think I'm ugly?"

Harry spluttered.

"All the girls fancy you, of course you're not ugly you idiot!" he stopped as the words came out of his mouth, hastening to correct how that could have sounded. "Not that I personally find you_ attractive_, I just - Salazar why do you always ask such awkward questions?"

Tom blinked at him.

"It was a simple question regarding aesthetics. You wouldn't feel awkward if I asked you if I thought Greengrass was ugly or not," the Slytherin Heir said, with that same infuriating logic. "What's the difference?"

"You, well, you're _you_," Harry said, trying to explain it.

"As opposed to being someone else…?" Tom returned dryly. He obviously didn't explain it well enough.

He took another drink, batting Tom's hand away as he reached for it again.

"You're a guy!" he blurted out.

"Astute of you to notice…that has what relevance on finding me attractive?"

"Guys don't tell other guys that they're _pretty_," Harry huffed, wanting to crawl into a ball of mortification. "Or handsome, whatever."

Tom shot him a look that made him feel utterly stupid for saying it.

"No," Harry said, tightly, "I don't think you're ugly, from what I know on the subject."

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" the young Dark Lord drawled. Harry scowled. "And you clearly don't have too many objections to my company, and by your own admission you're always emotionally compromised in my company-"

"-I was drunk when I said that!" Harry yelped, but was ignored. Tom appraised him seriously, appearing marginally concerned.

"The evidence suggests we fancy each other."

He was going to beg a sobering Potion off Snape.

* * *

A/N: Well, I never claimed to be good with slash. I hope you managed to enjoy it anyway, and that it wasn't too horrendous.

Non-slashers, you still need to give me requests for what you would like as your reward :)

PS: Still working my way through other challenges you've requested, but they took a backseat to these two [once I have the second idea anyway...] rewards.


	18. Riddle Me Twice

A/N: So you remember back ages ago on Fate's Favourite, when Voldemort was looking like Tom in Harry's dreams/visions? I got a lot of requests regarding Tom somehow entering the vision, and the consequent events to follow. Don't be too disappointed. Ironically, considering I'm supposedly so good at writing Tom, Voldemort is really difficult. 

* * *

Harry was thrashing again, in his sleep - twitching and writhing with screams trapped in his throat. Whether Harry was aware of it or not, he was becoming more silent in expressing the pain of his nightmares.

Tom crossed the room, soundlessly, stopping next to him, watching for a moment.

Did Harry really think that if he put on a smile, acted docile and compliant, that it would deter him from searching further? Hell, if anything, it drew his attention like a shot because if Harry went submissive then either something was seriously wrong emotionally or he was plotting something.

Either way, it had the opposite effect of what the Harry seemed to believe it had….Golden Boy was an excellent liar, for someone so _moral_, but he was better; not to mention, it didn't take a genius, and he was a genius, to notice that there was something suspicious with Death Eaters conveniently 'screwing up' every night for several nights.

Honestly.

He'd hoped Harry would tell him, but seeing as he wasn't, enough was enough. He entered Harry's mind to see what those _visions _were about himself.

* * *

It took him a moment to adjust, landing in the elaborate room of some Pureblood mansion. It only took a moment, and he saw everything, red haze descending across his vision and his blood boiling colder than liquid nitrogen.

In less than a second, he had summoned the wand of what bizarrely looked like a mirror image of himself, instantly cutting off the Cruciatus.

He knew, externally, that Harry's thrashing and screaming would subside as the torture was stopped.

Bloody Martyr had, of course, made allusions to Death Eater's screwing up and thus getting tortured, which he was aware Harry also felt to a lesser level - making the boy's stubborn silence infuriating enough already - but now this, directly? No. Harry really was an _idiot _sometimes_._

The mirror image - Voldemort (it could be no one else, and why did they look the same now? Mind game? potion? Glamour?) - turned to him with a cruel twist of the lips.

"Did you want a go too?" Voldemort questioned, mockingly. "You could have just said please."

"You're torturing him."

"No," Voldemort said, looking over at Harry's crumpled form with that smile. "I'm teaching him a lesson - isn't that right, pet?"

Harry's head lifted wearily, but still a glare settled like acid in killing curse eyes with what seemed to be great effort.

"Don't call him that," Tom snapped, taking a step forward.

"Ah, right, it's _darling_, isn't it?" Voldemort arched his brows, looking exactly like him. Exactly. Mirrored. It was disconcerting. _"_He didn't like that; he seems to think that nickname is reserved only for the use of '_his Tom'." _

Tom felt a small burst of smugness before he could quell it, but it didn't appease him for more than a split second.

He looked over at Harry, on the floor, clearly not all that coherent as he wasn't commenting further on this topic. There was no sarcastic quip either. Worrying…if, of course, he worried about people, which he didn't. He was just…noting the lack of repartee.

"Well, by that definition he must also be mine," he replied, dangerously, confident in the knowledge that Harry wasn't properly listening, and not overly bothered if he was. "And I know for sure that you're aware of the rule against touching that which doesn't belong to you," he added pointedly, taking a further step forward, his wand raised with menacing intent.

Voldemort's head tilted back slightly, eyes cold and derisive.

"Cute," the elder said, dryly. "But I'm not touching him, nor do you frighten me, child."

But that head tilt spoke louder than tones of mockery.

"You should be," Tom smirked, "you of all people know what I'm capable of."

"You won't harm me, especially not in his mind. You won't risk the damage," Voldemort returned, but there was a flash of fury on his gaze.

Tom would never have shown it…but Voldemort, however currently similar to appearance to him, was not him. Not anymore. His soul, and thus emotions were too instable.

He would make sure to find a way around that side effect, though ultimately it was a small price to pay for immortality. Nonetheless.

"No, but I can leave his mind, hunt you down and destroy you," he said, with a pleasantness at odds with his threat. It wasn't even a threat. It was a simple fact. Voldemort's face grew blank.

"You would do that for him?" the elder questioned. "How…_sickening_."

"I would take you apart for him," Tom warned, darkly. "Though, for obvious reasons, I'd prefer not to."

"I forgot how appallingly emotional you were at this age," Voldemort said, in a tone of great disgust. "It's pathetic. Hormonal teenager"

Tom glanced at Harry again, both to check and to give him a moment to regain control over those particular, certainly not hormonal or adolescent, emotions.

The continued lack of response was really beginning to make him…uneasy, now. And Voldemort was annoying.

If Harry was…himself…Tom was sure he'd be cutting in with an amused, biting remark on the irony that he couldn't stand being around himself.

"Leave," he ordered, wand held tightly in his hands, white-knuckled in restraint.

"I could take his mind apart just to spite you, if you have the audacity to continue using such a tone to your betters," Voldemort replied icily.

"No one is better than me," Tom drawled, with a lazy smirk. "So obviously you shan't."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and then he approached. Tom kept still, refusing to allow himself the weakness of a reaction.

The elder stopped just before touching, not able to initiate full contact yet, despite the weakening of the paradox.

"It won't work." he said, softer now, but no less cruelly. "You and him. Trust me-"

"Trust you?" Tom laughed, bitterly. "I know you - why would I ever _trust_ you?"

Voldemort's - his - lips thinned, furiously.

"And I know you, so I must confess to be at a loss as to why you are acting so…naively. He's not your friend. If you revealed the truth of your darker nature, revelled in it, told him of all you've done and all you _plan_, do you think he'd stay for a second? Harry is no friend to you, and he will leave you like everyone else, and then where will you be? You are _weak. _Leave him before he leaves you._"_

_"_Actually, I believe you'll be the one who's leaving now," he spat, unsettled, not wanting to listen to more. His curse he fired hit empty air, and the manor room exploded around them.

Voldemort was gone.

His jaw tightened with wrath.

Now for Harry.

* * *

Harry's eyes snapped open, the pain a familiar ache in his body, but different this time. Tom-Voldemort had been particularly vicious this time.

Was it possible to lose consciousness in one's own head? Would that be a coma? Could you even go into a temporary coma?

His thoughts spun, before coming to a halt as he immediately noticed the figure sat at the end of his feet. Tom stared at him with an unforgiving, relentless gaze, and Harry's muscles tensed as he sat up. His mouth felt dry.

What exactly had just happened?

"**How was the Death Eater meeting this time, hero?" **

"I-" Harry began.

"More screw ups, perhaps?" Tom continued, with a smile that seriously put Harry on edge. "A little bit of torture, just to teach a lesson…right, pet?"

Harry froze. Oh _crap. _

"It's noth-" he tried, and the next second he was flat on his back, Tom leaning over him, with a truly terrifying expression on his face.

Harry immediately tried to slide away, unable to stand the trapped feeling he was getting, only for Tom's vicious grip to tighten, drawing blood, near grinding his bones together.

He suppressed a wince, his breath catching in his throat.

"What are you doing?" He…didn't squeak.

"It's nothing, is it?" Tom asked, in a horribly sweet voice, too gentle. Harry swallowed, able to see the utter fury darkening the other's eyes. "Then there should be no reason for this to bother you. You know I won't _hurt_ you, right? There's absolutely no psychological damage from having the lines between myself and Voldemort forcibly blurred, is there?"

"Get off me," Harry warned, pushing to try and get the other off, panic growing like some putrid mould in his stomach.

"-Not going to…flinch from my touch?" Tom demanded, lowly, unyielding.

Harry was rigid, growing more so when one of Tom's fingers, from the hands on his forearms, traced across his pressure point.

He closed his eyes, unable to care how it came across, though his pride burned. He couldn't be here.

"_Please get off!"_ he snapped, too loud for the Dorm.

He held his breath for a moment, praying no one would wake up because he was pretty sure they would jump to the wrong conclusion to see Tom pinning him to his bed…even if they were fully clothed, he was sure they would find a way to distort the scenario!

"_**Look me in the eye and tell me again that this is nothing**_," Tom hissed, a deadly challenge in his voice.

Salazar, he hated the other sometimes.

Tom knew perfectly well that this wasn't nothing, he was just being a sadistic bastard in forcing Harry to bend his pride to admit that.

There was probably a reason, a twisted point, somewhere behind the young Dark Lord's actions, but right now, blind with unease and discomfort and crucio remnants, he couldn't see it.

He opened his eyes again, reluctantly, but remained silent. Tom was appraising him with an intent focus, only increasing his vulnerability.

"I will beat the spit out of you if you don't get off me right now, Tom Riddle-"

"Oh?" Tom smirked, but without humour. "How are you going to do that, _darling_, you seem to be having a slight difficultly getting your hands free?"

"Screw you," Harry growled, making sure to keep his voice quiet this time, so as not to wake people up.

"Interesting plan," Tom replied casually. "Always knew you had a secret submissive streak and got off on me pinning-"

"For Salazar's sake-!" Harry started, cursing.

"_-_clearly that must be why you're so tense, as opposed to the trauma I had assumed," Tom continued, cutting over him. "Mystery solved. Well, this is awkward, isn't it, what now?"

Tom stared at him, no expression on his face.

Harry clenched his teeth, recognising the trap.

He debated for a moment on going a long with the secret submissive streak crap, it was better than _trauma_, or something equally weak and broken sounding, but found he couldn't.

He knew Tom well enough to know that he wouldn't like the consequences, for Tom appeared to have absolutely no limits to what he was willing to do to get the result he wanted. The astronomy tower had taught him that…and he was most certainly not willing to go there again.

Damned Pride. Could he just say nothing? Probably not.

"Or, perhaps, I'm just not comfortable with being in such a…vulnerable…position with a psychopath?" he replied, thinking fast, desperately. "When I can't move my hands to defend myself? Said psychopath has, himself, admitted before to having sadistic tendencies which might be worrying to anyone, not just me, and thus cause them to be _tense."_

Tom was silent for a moment, and Harry could practically hear the mental cogs whirring at light speed for the best course of action, the optimum response.

"So, you're just generally scared of me?" Tom verified, lightly. "I must say, if that was the case, you normally hide it remarkably better behind what must, of course, be simple masks of defiance."

No good either, but preferable, possibly? No.

That would require acting a little scared, and he was afraid that if he pretended now, the real terror against the invasion/memories of torture spinning in his head, would reveal themselves.

He took a deep, shaky breath, knowing Tom caught the action, by his raised eyebrows.

He looked at the other, viciously containing his emotions.

"It's nothing," he said, willing his voice not to shake. "You are over-reacting."

"So are you," Tom said, softer now. His hands were pulled up, above his head, and Tom transferred his grip, freeing one of his own hands, and placing it across Harry's chest.

He resisted the urge to shudder.

"Your heartbeat, barring fear or attraction, shouldn't be racing…I'm pretty sure we've been over that before. So, which is it?"

His muscles burned.

"Why are you pushing this?" Harry asked, barely above a whisper, turning his gaze away, trying to ignore the world…and Tom.

"Because I'm _angry_," Tom hissed, and Harry's eyes shot back at that unexpected response, though it scarcely helped his…fight of flight instinct.

He tried to free himself again, but Tom's hand abruptly shifted from still measuring his pulse to holding him down once more. "And because I want you to accept that this isn't nothing, so you shouldn't treat it as such."

"In other words, you want to force me to ask for help like you never would?" he returned, with his own touch of rage.

"_I_ don't need help. You, evidently, do," Tom's voice was sharper now, more of that claimed anger shining through.

"You said you'd get off me if I looked you in the eye and told you it was nothing," Harry reminded, quietly.

Tom's jaw tightened, but after a moment, he did back off back to the end of the bed. Harry immediately curled up, hunching, summoning his wand to hold.

The Slytherin Heir stared at him.

There was a silence.

"Tell me if Voldemort comes into your dreams again."

Then he was gone...

And Harry was left with an empty, wound up feeling, as he curled in on himself, lying down.

He could hear Tom get back to his own bed.

Guilt joined the other array of pains.

He'd got the outcome he wanted, so why did he feel so…

* * *

Bleurgh. Bad writing. I shall cringe and hide...and pick an easier request next time, but I was swayed by the sheer number of people who requested...well, probably not exactly this.

- OH! CHRISTMAS CHALLENGE! Anyone feel like writing their own version of this? I could do with a christmas present, and, and it would be more satisfactory to all people who requested. And a chance to test your creative skills. And you could, naturally, get a prize from me ;) 

Or, hey, any oneshot? anyone in the Christmas spirit? 


	19. Ghosts of Christmas

Christmas 1937

Tom sat in the library, attempting to immerse himself in a text on healing magic and offensive curses.

He'd been at Hogwarts for three months now, and it was nothing like he'd expected. At the Orphanage, he'd never really fitted in, he was too different, and had always known that he didn't belong there.

He was special, he'd had something they didn't, power…_magic._

He'd thought, or at least some part of him had hoped, that would change when he came to a school for Witchcraft and Wizardry, full of people like him - or perhaps not just like him, he still had a power they didn't, that much was obvious from how their tiny brains appeared to struggle with the simplest of concepts and spells. Ultimately, he'd found that even here he didn't fit in, in the house that was supposedly meant to be 'like his family,' according to Dumbledore.

Well, he supposed that seemed pretty accurate, as popular opinion suggested his family had also hated his guts. Not that he cared.

They'd regret it one day, and, indeed, his classmates were already beginning to regret their judgements in the face of his retaliation.

Before he didn't belong because he had magic, and now he didn't belong because he was presumably a 'mudblood.'

So, he here was, sitting on his own in the library on Christmas Day, while his peers celebrated with gifts and laughter.

Again, not that he cared, gifts given for Yule were largely pointless and offered without any thought or care outside of the impression it would give and the favour it would bring.

He didn't care.

He didn't mind being on his own for Christmas…and what was the big deal about having company for Christmas anyway? People were alone every other day of the year, why did they choose the 25th of December to suddenly get clingy? Material gain, probably.

He had been surprised that witches and wizards celebrated the time in such a Christian fashion though…hadn't there been witch hunts?

Why would anyone choose to follow a muggle ritual, when he'd already heard of such fantastic _magical_ rituals for Yule-time alone.

Wouldn't it make more sense for magic folk to be pagan? He supposed it was for all those mudbloods who actually liked being filthy and tainted by their muggle heritage.

Who knew, maybe he wasn't one of them, he couldn't be, and it wasn't like he knew who his parents was.

He could be the lost heir to some prominent family - after all, the 'pure bloods' called themselves superior to him, when it was quite clear in terms of ability and magical talent that they were by far inferior to him. He couldn't be the mudblood they claimed with such power, could he?

He felt someone approach, and flicked his gaze up warily for a few seconds, and his grip tightened almost imperceptibly on his beloved yew and phoenix feather.

Alphard Black and Zevi Prince.

His muscles bunched in anticipation, ready for a fight, though he couldn't imagine that they'd get away with starting one here, in the library, or that it would be much of a fight with only two of them instead of the normal year group.

He turned back to his research impassively.

They stopped at his table and did…nothing.

He continued to ignore them.

Finally, Black gave a small cough, then another. He directed his gaze up for a couple of seconds, not lowering his gaze because that would be too submissive.

One day they would realise his lack of eye contact with them wasn't due to evasion at all, but rather that they weren't worth the effort of sustained acknowledgement.

"We've been looking everywhere for you," Black began.

"Clearly not," Tom drawled, cutting over him and gaining a perverse satisfaction from the act. "Or it would have taken you blessedly longer to disturb me."

Though their expressions scarcely changed, he could feel them cringe at his words.

"What are you working on?" Prince asked, smoothly, before faltering. "Not homework, surely? it's Christmas."

"Really?" he replied, with a biting sarcasm. "I was so convinced it was Halloween."

They lapsed in an amusingly awkward silence for a moment, before.

"Um, we'll just leave," Alphard muttered. "We just wanted to, er, wish you a merry Christmas. Here."

They both reached into their bags, offering him small, elegantly wrapped parcels.

When he didn't immediately reach out for them, they set the gifts on the table. They lingered for a moment, with a pleasingly nervous glint to their demeanour.

They left promptly, and he slumped lazily back in his chair, bemused.

Christmas was the same wherever he went. But so was something else. Power.

Power was everything.

And he had power.

Christmas was hardly a joyous event to be anticipated, and he doubted he'd ever celebrate a Christmas he enjoyed simply due to the lack of adequate company, but maybe, just maybe, it was completely worthless.

* * *

Christmas 1995 

It was the earliest hours of Boxing Day, maybe about three in the morning, and most of the house was silent with everyone winding down.

Some had gone to bed, and as far as Harry knew Sirius was nursing a firewhiskey in the kitchen with Remus, while Ron and Hermione were otherwise occupied.

He and Tom were sat on the window ledge in 'their' room at Grimmauld, watching the abandoned streets of London stretching below.

"If you walk in that direction, for about a mile," Tom said quietly, tilting him that way with a firm grip on Harry's shoulder, pointing out the window. "Behind all those buildings, you'd come to the Orphanage, if its still there."

Harry watched the other carefully, wary of frightening away the uncharacteristic openness. Tom glanced at him, the barest evidence of a sneer touching his lips.

"It was a horrible place, cold, colourless. I hated, hate, it there."

"I'm guessing it didn't celebrate Christmas very well either," Harry said softly. Tom was silent for a while, and Harry began to doubt that he would even answer the implicit question.

"There was never enough money, times were hard, and the money that was there went on warmer blankets or clothes for the younger children, or paying back heating bills that were long since overdue. Some of the matrons tried, I suppose, for the others, but…"

"Not for you?" Harry questioned. Tom shrugged, appearing indifferent.

"No one wanted to get too close to the devil child."

Harry almost winced at the bluntness of that statement, and anger surged inside him.

"Devil Child?"

"Mrs Cole was rather religious, and I imagine they assumed me to be possessed when strange things started happening." Harry's stomach churned.

"What about when you came to Hogwarts?" he asked. "Did Christmas not get better there?"

Tom arched his brows.

"I was a mudblood in Slytherin," he said, as if that explained everything.

Harry turned to face the other more directly, frowning now.

"Zevi, Abrax-" he began.

"Are not my friends. They're my allies, followers" Tom returned, looking marginally amused, though Harry couldn't think what was funny. "They stay because I'm powerful, and because they have something to gain from my…_friendship, _not out of some fluffy, milk and honey notion of fellowship._"_

Harry's mouth felt dry.

He squashed down any pity, knowing Tom wouldn't appreciate it, wondering if he could have turned out the same if things were just a little different…if the first people he met were simply spending time with him because he was the Boy who Lived.

He opened his mouth to talk, only for Tom to continue before he could speak.

"And don't say I should treat them as friends and not followers, for that to change. I have no desire for friends."

"What am I then?" Harry asked, wondering if he should feel insulted.

"The general public would have some interesting answers to that question," Tom smirked. Harry rolled his eyes, before his head tilted thoughtfully.

"Is that why you don't like Christmas; bad memories?"

"Among other things. Personally I find the whole season to be frivolous and hypocritical." The Slytherin Heir's eyes darkened. "They preach kindness, generosity, good will to all men…but the whole thing is simultaneously some status symbol and boast of societal hierarchy. The second that golden bubble of day is gone, they just return back to their normal phoney dispositions with more vitriol than before."

"Sounds like your problem is humanity, not Christmas itself," Harry remarked.

"I hate them both," Tom returned. "Christmas simply brings out the worst of two-faced man."

"Most people would claim the opposite," Harry said.

"Most people are also idiots," Tom replied, nonchalantly. Harry bit his lip.

"Has this Christmas been so terrible for you to suffer too then?" he tried the question lightly, as if the answer was of little or no consequence to him.

Tom's gaze was piercing as it turned to him, and he smiled, almost softly, and certainly with some more positive warmth than normal, albeit a warmth coloured by confusion.

Fond incredulity? Fond, sad incredulity? Was there such a thing?

"How can you like Christmas, Harry?" Tom murmured. "I know for a fact that your childhood memories of this time are no picnic in the park."

"Don't know what you mean," Harry said automatically. "The Dursley's always had amazing Christmas feasts and extravagant parties and gifts-"

"-Just none for freaks or devil children," Tom said, eyebrows raised.

Harry came to a halt, reluctantly. He shrugged awkwardly.

"Well, yeah, Christmas with the Dursley's was…total crap," he admitted. "But in more recent years I've found it to be far more enjoyable. I love Christmas at Hogwarts, it's like the whole castle lights up, and yeah, maybe the whole good will thing doesn't always last, but surely there's something worthy in that one day, all around the world, can bring it out at all?"

"You're an idealistic fool." Tom snorted, but, perhaps to Harry's surprise, there was no venom or scathing in his tone. A ring of laughter drifted upwards from the kitchen.

"This is coming from the boy who plans to grow up to change the world?" Harry questioned, his brows raised.

"Most people plan to grow up to change the world," Tom replied, "they just aren't powerful or brave enough to manage it."

"Advocating Gryffindor qualities now, are we?" Harry smirked. "My, I'm a bad influence on you."

"Bravery without ambition is senseless, ambition without bravery is non-existent," Tom said, with a hint of seriousness now. "The truly ambitious are always brave, golden boy, otherwise they would never act upon their childhood dreams and plans."

Harry resisted the urge to ask whether seeking immortality in _fear_ of death and the unknown was brave, then, but held his tongue because it was Christmas and he didn't want to get in a argument over that topic and its many issues again.

"No, by the way," Tom said, quietly. Harry looked over, confused. "You asked me if this Christmas has been terrible for me - it hasn't."

Harry smiled.

* * *

Christmas 1943 (A possible future)

It was odd, for once, to not be spending the Christmas of his sixth year at Hogwarts.

Still, it was best thing to try and keep Harry (or James Black now, as Harrison Evans couldn't come back to life after his funeral) away from the student population and teaching staff as much as possible.

Tom had perfomed some sustained transfiguration, of both the muggle and magical variety. He'd left the boy's hair black, a his surname and apparent family as cousin of Alphard and Orion.

The boy had, well, he couldn't say accepted the victory of Tom's plan, but…he wasn't as bad as when he'd first arrived.

Harry was adjusting, either that, or Tom was simply wearing him down depending on who you asked.

When they'd first arrived in the past, future obliterated, the boy had raged and struggled and fought and begged for his life back.

Tom had been unrelenting and simply told him that this was his life now, and there was nothing he could do about it. Repeatedly. Now he just…sulked.

If he hadn't shown any improvement, and if that year in a non-existent future wasn't so important in regards to memories and development, he would have modified Harry's memories by now, just to ease the…grieving process or whatever.

He honestly didn't know what Harry was so worked up.

He'd already been a Horcrux…Tom had just switched the conditions a bit, and sure his methods for keeping Harry here, when he should have been turned to non-existence with the rest of his world weren't exactly in line with

Harry's chosen magic and morals, but the end justified the means, didn't it?

As for his whole world, life, friends and family being obliterated…it wasn't like he'd killed them, they just never existed.

Harry had narrowed his eyes and accused him of hypocrisy, as that was exactly what Tom had railed against Harry doing to himself, and hadn't it been a big deal then…? Tom hadn't liked it, arguing that Harry wouldn't be the same with such a changed past, and then spat that was exactly what Tom was forcing him to live with.

All of his friends changed, and not recognising him - so not his friends or family at all.

Except, it wasn't like Harry didn't have anyone to hang around with in this time either, he seemed to significantly forget that for a year he'd had a life in Tom's time anyway. Whatever.

He glanced at the former Harry Potter, sprawled on the other bed of their rented Leaky Cauldron room.

"Lestrange has invited us over for Christmas dinner," he said, looking for a reaction.

There had been an appalling lack of reactions recently, as if the colour has been sucked out of his half Gryffindor, half Slytherin.

"Okay," Harry replied, dully.

Tom's eyes narrowed, and he flipped away from the desk.

It was so much more easier planning world domination when he had some knowledge of the future…not that he'd mention that to Harry, his friend had enough on his mind adjusting.

Well, he seemed to have enough on his mind, because otherwise he'd be doing a better job of said adjusting. He moved over, gratified to find that his proximity still always caught Harry's attention, even if he was still sulking.

"I thought you liked Christmas," he stated.

Harry looked away again, rolling onto his stomach in dismissal of the conversation, his jaw tight, no doubt remembering his last Christmas where Tom had given him a family, in contrast to now when he'd 'taken Harry's family away' or whatever.

Well used to it, and admittedly sometimes a trifle entertained by the other's behaviour - Harry's defiance had always been one of the interesting things about him, that set him apart, and to some extent made Tom admire him - he simply sat down on the bed next to him, turning him around again, placing a hand on his shoulder to keep Harry from moving away again.

He arched his brows in repeat of his question. No answer was forthcoming.

He examined the other critically.

"Are you missing them?"

For the first time in a while, Harry's eyes flared up like he was Harrison Evans again, not the more meeker James Black.

"Of course I'm missing them," he snapped. "I-Salazar." The anger was gone just as abruptly, replaced by a miserable expression. "I want to hate you, sometimes I do hate you, you took everything away from me and now you're the only thing I have left." Harry laughed, quietly, bitterly.

"Well, at least I'm awesome," Tom replied, with a smirk, though albeit one without taunt and he knew Harry would pick up on that.

The other made a noise that was a mix between a snort and a whimper.  
He could feel emotions churning in his head, foreign. Harry's.

Hopelessness. Anger. Grief. Desperation.

Tom hesitated, before pulling Harry into a sitting position, against him, and not letting go when the made a movement torn between trying to free himself or clinging back fiercely for some small measure of human comfort.

Eventually, Harry just stopped struggling, and he figured the same thing would happen with this whole situation. Harry was already putting up less protest than before.

"I ruined your life, I know that," he said, softly. "And I know you won't forgive me for it….but at least let me help you build a new one. I think we're both way past the stage of walking away."

Silence descended, and they stayed like that.

"Merry freaking Christmas, Tom."

"…Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

* * *

Present Day:

Tom awoke with a jerk, eyes snapping open, blinking, disorientated. He sucked in a deep breath, not sure why he felt so shaky.

He sat up slowly, his gaze immediately slicing across to Harry's bed, his sleeping form, before he slipped silently into the common room in search of fire and light.

His mind was full of ghosts. Christmas ghosts - and damn it, he refused to acknowledge the irony of that.

He frowned, more unsettled than he'd care to admit.

He was pretty sure, somewhere, that Fate was laughing.

* * *

_A/N: Well, I hope this wasn't too bad, I've been writing it ill and with a temperature at points, so if it is too bad blame that. Perhaps not the fluffiest thing, but, I was incredibly stuck._

_About the future Christmas, no, that doesn't mean that Tom's plan is going to be the winning one, or that his plan won't be the winning one, I just used his because a) you guys seemed more interested in it and b) it was all about Tom's christmas in a la Christmas Carol style. So, er, yeah._

_Enjoy?_

_I will probably update Fate's Favourite soon..._

_Hope you all have a great Christmas!_


	20. Love Sick

Harry entered the Great Hall to a feeling of absolute horror.

Ever since second year, he'd grown to dread this awful day, and never held high hopes for it being a good one. February 14th.

_Valentine's Day. _Ugh.

Even the name made him cringe. It wasn't that he didn't like the idea of a day celebrating 'love' and all that between people, it was the garish manner that he didn't like, the sudden influx of pinkness, hearts, fluffiness and giggling. He shuddered.

Seriously, everything suddenly became all about "I love you" and "we will be together, forever," it didn't seem very healthy.

Honestly, if people didn't expect love to be all perfect and fairytale-y all the time, encouraged by this day, then he was sure they'd be a lot happier.

Maybe he could just shuffle back quietly to bed and pretend he was sick for the duration of the time? Or go to the room of requirement and lock the doors until the whole disastrous affair was over.

Tom didn't look particularly overjoyed either, though the disgust was not openly visible on his composed features. It was the murderous glint in his eyes though.

If Harry hated this day, Tom hated it even more due to his loathing of sentiment and the idea of love within itself. He couldn't bring himself to feel pity.

Misery loved company.

Trying to shrink into himself, he made his way over to the table, dropping into his normal seat glumly. He offered a pained grimace type smile to Pansy, in accordance to their deal, when the girl waved at him.

She burst into laughter with her friends soon after. He wanted to bury his head in his hands. Maybe crawl into a hole.

He grabbed his coffee, like a lifeline, not sure he could stomach anything else, and not speaking either. Alphard and Abraxas both smirked at him, and he narrowed his eyes.

The whole situation was made even worse by the fact that, the night before, Dumbledore had announced a surprise dance - because they all needed some fun and cheering up with the outbreak of the war outside of school. Now, a lot of the girls - and a numerous amount of guys - were in a panic about what they would be wearing to the ball tonight, and, even more importantly, who they would be going.

The number of suggestive, hinting looks and greetings he'd received already since leaving his bed was outrageous.

He was tempted to simply loudly announce that he was gay, just so they would leave him alone and in some peace, but he'd probably regret it once the day was out. The ramifications on the rumour mill would be horrendous, and then it would be an awkward thing to explain when he ever wanted to date someone.

He was tempted to avoid the ball too, but Hermione had made him promise to come and not sulk somewhere on his own.

Therefore, he need someone to go with. And he thought he knew just the girl too.

* * *

Tom Riddle expertly hid his scowl, avoiding the crowds of admirers that seemed to appear everywhere, unwanted, like a bad smell.

It was getting ridiculous.

He'd planned to work on the time spell today, and, instead, the second he sat down in the library these girls just kept finding reasons to approach him or his corner, laughing, or acting clumsy, or intelligent, or to start a conversation.

Some even had the audacity to ask him he wanted to go to the dance with them. Honestly. Whatever happened to males choosing females? Had all British etiquette died in fifty years?

The change within the fairer species bemused him. Many were bolder now, confident, pretty little things that were no longer so wrapped up in good reputation.

It was…interesting.

Not that he particularly cared about any of that stuff, and he had no more interest in them then he had in any of his more male followers.

Of course, beauty was something he could appreciate, and if he were to take a girl to the dance - which, of course, he would have to do, even if merely to ward off the rest of the slavering hopefuls - they would have to be the most desired, beautiful and intelligent woman in the school.

It was simply a matter of principle.

He'd probably invite Daphne Greengrass, he knew she was waiting on his invitation, and even expected it. That, he would have to curb, the thought that she was someone special…but it would be fun, his reprieve and affair of the night.

Taming her would give him something to play with anyway, if Harry was busy.

Salazar, he hated this day. It was sickening.

Everything just became all about love and sex, and, ultimately, nothing which held much interest to him. The best part of Valentine's day would be to see how many people he could play, and how many hearts he could break irreparably, the games of power and control…but, alas, he had to maintain a mask and to do that would not aid him in the long term, as gratifying as it would be short term.

"Hi, Tom," a voice said sweetly. He looked up, forcing a polite smile onto his face.

"Hello Miss…?" he greeted, fishing for a name. He'd forget it soon after, but for the sake of cordiality he had to pretend he gave a damn.

"Hi Tom," she giggled, "I'm Lavender, Lavender Brown. But you can call me Lav."

"Like a lavatory?" he questioned, spitefully, unable to help himself, concealing his revulsion with a façade of innocent 'bad humour.'

Her face puckered with an uncertainty for a moment, but, unfortunately, it didn't manage to repel her away.

"No. Well, anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the dance with me?" she asked, smiling again. Why on earth would he want to go to the dance with her?

"Sorry, no," he said. "I already have plans."

"With who - Harry? I heard him asking Ron and Hermione where that weirdo Luna Lovegood was, I thought he was asking her." She looked at him, as if expected him to reconsider. He was still.

"Harry's going with Lovegood?" he questioned, delicately. A pitying expression drifted across her face.

"Yeah…you…did you have plans with him?" she gasped. "You can go with me, make him jealous!"

He stared at her, coldly, beyond irritated.

It wasn't that Harry was going with someone else that was bothering him, really, it was that it was _her. _Harry surely wasn't expecting him to put up with girl crazy all evening? Was he? She wasn't worth his best friend, certainly.

She was so…and did Harry even know what going with her would do to his standing? He should be going with one of the girls everyone wanted to be with, not _Lovegood,_ of all people.

She was a pureblood, he supposed, but…since when did Harry fancy her? Did he fancy her? Were they going to be all couple-y? Harry wasn't going to turn into some pathetic sap, was he?

Brown was beginning to look somewhat fearful, nervous, but there was also a glint of steely determination in her eyes. He smoothed his features.

"Why would I want to make Harry jealous?" he asked, raising a cool brow.

"Because you're - well, you're-"

"Yes?" he enquired silkily. She licked her lips.

"Well, you like, love him, don't you? Play for his team?"

"If you think that to be true, why ask me to the dance with you?"

"Cause you can do better than him -" she began.

"Better than him isn't you," he smiled, sweetly. "That would be a drop in my standards, and the only reason I would ever go to a dance with you was if I wanted to kill myself with boredom and bad company."

Her expression steeled.

"You can't just insult me like that, I'm being nice to you."

"I have no use for your niceness," he turned away from her, dismissively.

The next second, he felt something stab into his neck, and sank into pink and purple clouds.

* * *

"Luna - hey, Luna," Harry hurried to catch up with the blonde Ravenclaw.

"Harry?" she asked, a small confused smile on her face. "What is it? Happy Valentine's day."

"Yeah, you too…"

Everyone around them had stopped to listen, and he felt a bit awkward, so took hold of her arm and steered her sightly off the beaten track. Her head tilted.

"Have you noticed that you've picked up physically moving someone yourself instead of asking them to come with you from Tom?" she enquired.

He blinked, before flushing, because that was exactly what he'd just done.

"Sorry," he said. She shrugged, regarding him expectantly. "Okay, um, so I was wondering if you wanted to go to the dance with me?"

"Oh," she said, her expression changing. "Harry, you're a really lovely person but I don't like you like tha-"

"-I mean as friends," he clarified, quickly. "Unless there's someone else you wanted to go with, it's just that, I don't really do the whole Valentine's day thing very well and anyone else I ask is just going to assume I fancy them even I say it's just as friends, and, well, you're the only - er - female friend I have except Hermione, and she's going Ron, and I think you're really cool and - oh bloody hell," he muttered.

He was making a right dog's breakfast of this. He'd planned it to sound so much smoother and more eloquent. He rubbed his head sheepishly. She broke into a smile.

"I'd love to go to the dance with you, as friends," she said cheerfully. "Though I thought you'd go with Tom, but oh well."

Harry's jaw dropped.

"T-Tom? I - Luna - I told you, we're not-"

"Not romantically involved," she nodded her head. "Yes, I know. But you know, if you were looking for a friend to go with, he would have been the obvious choice. Most people think you're secretly dating anyway."

"I'm not asking _Tom _to go to the dance with me!"

"He'd probably say yes, if that's what you're worried about, he actually likes you," she said, reasonably. "But, yes, I'll go with you if you want to make him jealous."

"Who said anything about making Tom jealous?" Harry demanded, nonplussed.

Had he blacked out and missed large chunks of this conversation? How had they even got onto this topic? She gave him an odd look.

"He doesn't like sharing you, he'd be jealous and possessive regardless if you were actually dating the person you took to the dance, surely you know that?"

"I-he'd have his own date."

"And he'd rather be spending the night with you," she stated, rolling her eyes as if he was an absolute idiot. He felt like one, talking to her, sometimes. She smiled again, suddenly, dazzingly. "Well, I'm going to pick out my dress! Seven in the entrance hall, okay?"

"…Okay."

* * *

Daphne Greengrass, ice queen of Slytherin, frowned to see Tom Riddle walk into the ballroom with Lavender Brown.

He'd sort of expected her to be going with her; and now, she was going with Abraxas Malfoy instead - not that the man wasn't handsome or charming, it's just, he wasn't Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle…she was the Queen of Hearts, she collected men like some collected stamps, their hearts for her taking, just to see if she could get away with stealing them, before tossing them back when she got bored.

But, despite this, she'd never try and seriously collect either Tom Riddle or Harry Potter, and he knew it.

Harry Potter was a no go area, as though many believed him to be less ruthless and capable of holding his own than the domineering Slytherin prince, she'd seen quite enough to know that wasn't true…and if for some reason he didn't, Riddle would destroy anyone with the intention of harming the younger boy.

Tom Riddle…Tom Riddle was exciting for his ability to play the game so well, a wild card, but he would tear any person who got close to him apart just for the fun of it, if it suited him.

He wasn't appropriate for romantic relationships, and she was stupid to think that she could collect him, it would only be the other way round.

Simply, because he had no rules and limits to his games like the rest of them.

It was an implicit understanding between them. That was why she thought they'd make such a good match for this ball.

They both liked playing games, and that would no doubt be the best of the evening's entertainment, and her reputation would stand with his.

He could be seen with her without his standards falling.

But…this…_her? _It should have been her with him.

Something was wrong.

Riddle had just walked straight past Potter for Brown's simpering posse of lions. Her eyes sharpened on the scene, along with those of her date's.

"Have they argued?" she asked him, as they twirled around in waltz. Abraxas' face was composed, but his eyes had flickered from their solid silver, flashing.

"No…otherwise Harry wouldn't have approached him like that," he murmured. She considered getting Abraxas to go over there, but it wasn't either of their place.

She remained dancing, instead, switching partners occasionally, but keeping an eye on the situation.

She could scarcely believe her eyes, she could have sworn she almost saw Riddle lash out Harry at one point, an arm wrapped around that girl's shoulders, before he'd shunted past.

After that, she hadn't seen the two of them together, though she noted Harry too casting his gaze over at the Slytherin Heir every so often.

On anyone else, he would have called it jealousy but…they were a few hours into the dance when her partner gave up on hoping things would simply be resolved.

There was terror in his eyes as they'd almost given up dancing, watching; she hadn't imagined it this time, and there was nothing subtle about it, Riddle had almost been at Potter's throat, face twisted with something dark, only backing off at the fluttering of the Brown's eyelashes.

She gripped Abraxas' arm tightly.

"I'll join you in getting drinks," Daphne simply stated.

Meaning, she was coming with. If she got a chance to see this particular dynamic up close, in its complex, twisted nature than she would not pass up the chance for anything. He glanced at her.

"Harry won't appreciate your involvement, I highly doubt he'd appreciate mine-" he began, as if concerned for her, and probably just as much for himself.

It was why he hadn't intervened so far, in fear of the two of them in such dangerous moods.

She laughed, a silvery laugh. No, this magnificent pureblood was not Tom Riddle, as witty and enchanting as he was, he wasn't him. Riddle had no fear, and no impunity if he wanted something.

"I'll be fine," she touched his arm, lightly, favouring him with her most alluring smile. She wasn't sure if she was pleasantly surprised or not when he only sent her a considering look, not swooning.

They walked over, to where Harry was dancing with Lovegood, and Potter rolled his eyes at the sight of them.

"Luna…do you mind?" he asked, as the music began to transition to the next song.

The blonde merely shot him a smile, releasing the ex Gryffindor's and starting to do a bizarre swirling dance on her own.

She was about to say something, but stopped and held his tongue at the smile gracing Harry's face as he watched her with amusement, before giving away to blank neutrality as he turned to them.

"What is it?" Harry questioned, evenly. The lack of warmth was enough to warn her that he wasn't as nice as his amiable demeanour and golden boy title might suggest.

"Is Tom…okay?" Abraxas asked.

"I presume so."

Ooh. Definite irritation. Maybe he was jealous, a little bit? She'd seen it before so many times after all, that emotion, she could hardly be wrong…

"It's just-"

"Just?" Potter enquired delicately. Her thoughts snapped to a almost cowered under that killing curse gaze.

"You two don't seem to be getting along," Malfoy mumbled.

"I dare say he's pissed off with me for going with Luna, though why he's with 'Lav-Lav' I don't know," Harry said, finally, and despite his exterior, the cool tone, she thought she might have distinguished the tiniest tinge of hurt and confusion.

If her heart was less icy, she might have felt something for him.

At that moment, Prince appeared next to them, having left his date - a pretty Ravenclaw girl in the year above. With a glance at the two of them, he leaned over and whispered into Harry's ear.

* * *

Harry froze at the words.

"Tom's under a love potion."

He turned to Zevi, aghast. Tom? Love potion? No way! That was…

Tom would never _drink _something given to him like that, and would recognise any dangerous potions - including amortentia - off pat.

"How do you know?" he demanded.

"Because of the fact that he's been ignoring you," Zevi said, a hint of annoyance in his tone. "And if you weren't so proud and stubborn you would acknowledge the unusualness of his behaviour too. I know he wouldn't have tolerated a reverse situation in which you ignored him, he would have dragged you out here before the first hour was-"

"Do you think I haven't tried talking to him?" Harry hissed, rubbing his throat where Tom had earlier tried to attack him, before realising what he was doing, and dropping his hand into a clenched fist by his side.. "Do you think I plan to stop trying to help him? Whatever you may think of me Zevi, I'm not _stupid _enough to start an argument with him in the middle of a ballroom full of people."

He regretted the harshness of his tone the second it slipped past his tongue, and deflated marginally.

"What did you say?" Abraxas demanded, staring at Zevi. "What's wrong with Tom?"

Zevi hesitated, glancing over towards Tom. Malfoy glanced at him, but didn't demand the question of him, for whatever reason.

Harry followed the gaze, to where Lavender was laughing, draped across the Slytherin Heir.

He felt sick to look at it…not because Tom was with some girl, well, yes, because he was with Lavender Brown who was kind of known for being a bit of an air headed slut in the tower, albeit not a bad-intentioned one, but more so because he was acting so _not Tom. _

Was he under a love potion? Nausea bubbled in his gut.

"Do you have the antidote?" he asked, tightly. He highly doubted Snape would help him, if Zevi said no.

"I can make one within half an hour, if you can get him to come to the potion's lab."

"We'll be there," Harry said.

His jaw set with resolution.

* * *

Tom smiled indulgently as Lav-Lav talked to him about where he'd got her dress from.

He honestly didn't know why he hadn't noticed her before now, she was so amazing that it took his breath away. Enchanting.

She looked like the angels had made her, and she was so funny.

Inside, he was horrified, feeling like his insides were being twisted around.

He was a Psychopath, and more so, he'd been conceived on love potion. He couldn't love.

And yet…and yet he couldn't stop his body from acting like he did, he couldn't control his words, it was as if some other part of him had taken over.

Harry would notice something was wrong, and, indeed, he knew Harry had noticed the second he had walked past him.

He'd wanted to stop, to explain, but he couldn't, tongue tied. Salazar.

Tongue tied. Crazy. Hormonal. Irrational. Simpering.

He _loathed _the way he was acting, and yet, he could do nothing but silently scream.

The love potion wasn't working properly, he could tell that much, he would have been happier, he was sure, if it was. Then he wouldn't be able to feel these doubts, and his own will and personality would not be battling with potion.

He felt sick. His hands were starting to tremble, even as they accepted every love-potion poisoned gesture she handed him.

She'd been put up to it, he could tell that much already. She wasn't smart, or even vicious enough, to have done this on her own accord.

He could have sworn he was dying. Maybe he was.

He certainly wasn't reacting right to the potion, for how could he? He was incapable of the love a love potion induced.

His heart hammering, and he'd come to the horrible conclusion that this particular combination was toxic to him.

How utterly ridiculous, this was Harry's type of luck, not his, but there it was - he was allergic to love potion.

He felt light headed. He knew Harry was trying to help him, but that thrice damned potion wasn't helping matters. He couldn't _think _properly, about anything but her, obsessed and fixated.

He suspected the only reason he even had a modicum of coherency and restraint left was because he'd already had quite strong attachments before.

To Harry.

Even a love potion couldn't completely eradicate a soul bond, but damn did it fight against it. A love potion was designed to make the drinker utterly in love with one person, no competition, just complete devotion and lust.

It didn't allow for _two _people to be on the same level of affection.

Therefore, to fulfil its purpose, Harry needed to be gone…and the boy just kept pushing. He could feel his reactions getting more and more violent, in a distant type of way, and silently prayed (recognising the irony of his wish) that Harry would win this game.

He knew he hated Valentine's day.

He twirled the unsuspecting, delighted Gryffindor around the dance floor in her _stunning _dress. Salmon Pink. He'd hated salmon pink once. Salmon pink was fabulous at this moment.

His hands were shaking. She studied him with some concern.

"There's no need to be nervous," she smiled. "You're a great dancer."

Her eyes were glazed too. There was something very wrong here.

He almost groaned when Harry appeared in his line of vision again, coming closer.

"I thought I told you to leave," he snapped. Harry had noticed; now someone else, someone less likely to get murdered by his volatile state, could deal with the consequences.

"We need to talk."

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Harry," Lavender whined. "We're trying to dance! He's not gay, alright? He's with me now."

He knew Harry, like he, had picked up on the growing increasingly stoned eyes of the girl.

"Step to the side, you're going to make a scene," Harry ordered, quietly.

"Did you not hear-"

"_Somnum,"_ Harry whispered the sleep inducing speech, catching Lavender, playing her off as drunk as he passed her onto Granger. Granger was involved in this too?

This was going to be bloody humiliating.

His insides burned like fire, his heart feeling like it was being torn in two, and the next second his wand was out and pointed at Harry, digging subtly into his throat, drawing blood, almost choking.

His friend surveyed him warily, wand still only half directed at him. Why was Harry not fighting him now, of all times? Too public. Public.

He should show Lavender a public declaration of his feelings. A hundred and one red roses once this brat stopped trying to separate them.

"How dare you touch Lav-Lav?" he hissed, nearly cringing at his own words. This was the worst thing ever. It was like being under a less blissful version of the Imperious curse.

"Tom, you're under a love potion."

Oh, he knew.

His eyes narrowed to slits. Harry really needed to stop pushing and not be so close to him, magic flaring in that challenging, utterly more interesting than Lavander's magic, manner. It was only urging him to kill the boy more.

"Leave me alone or I will kill you," he spat, deadly serious. "Leave us both alone. I don't want you interfering in something you know nothing about."

He could see the hurt in Harry's eyes, frosted and hidden beneath layers of casual indifference.

"Killing me doesn't work well, Boy-Who-Lived and all that jazz," Harry replied nonchalantly. "Come now, show a bit of affection for your supposed boyfriend, it's Valentine's day."

What was Harry trying to achieve? Teasing him in that manner, as if he was in his right mind? Was he trying to see if there was something left outside of vapid romantic obsession, a dark twisted version of the 'real thing.' Or was he trying to stupidly provoke a reaction? Or distract-

A compulsion hex hit his back.

* * *

Severus Snape hated Valentine's Day, and this one had been the worst in the while.

He'd expected to have to endure watching Potter and Riddle playing their coy games and infuriating everyone around them with their unresolved sexual tension (he'd been incredulously disbelieving when he heard they both had dates, how could teenage girls concede so happily to being so obviously a pair of beards? Even if attached to admittedly charismatic faces.)

Somehow, the reality of his night was even worse.

He hated Love Potions, and this particular combination was lethal. Tom Riddle, under love potion. The teenage Dark Lord under love potion.

He had a horrible feeling of forbidding in his gut.

His grandfather had demanded access to his high-tech potions ingredients and equipment, and he had, naturally, come along to ensure the safety of said equipment.

He also refused to leave these kids in the lone company of a more-deranged-than-normal psychopath. He did want to be born, thank you very much, and he knew from Valentine's previous that the effects of Amortentia only exacerbated under prolonged lack of antidote, the effects more intense.

He felt a pang of guilt as Potter entered, studying him warily, clutching an unconscious Riddle close (he suspected the boy had been using notice me nots to keep the rest of the awful dance noticing anything out of the ordinary - not that any of those teens looked properly,) those Lily-eyes filled with shock at the sight of him, overcast by a shadow of utter panic and too many other things to be distinguished.

His eyes flicked over Riddle, before pausing.

Zevi Prince was an esteemed potioneer, he would admit, but he was the youngest Potion's Master in history.

That love potion wasn't right.

The young Dark lord was too pale, and the blush on his cheeks shouldn't have been there.

He was _sick. _Lovesick.

It was extremely rare, but he'd heard about it.

Some people, for reasons unknown, rejected the effects of the love potion and thus, the liquid poisoned them in an attempt to maintain its hold, by weakening the drinker.

There was barely anything about the condition.

He suddenly felt ultimately worse for having tried so hard to ignore these two, in hopes of avoiding their vomit-inducing dynamic and bond.

He didn't know why Pomoma thought the two were adorable, the whole relationship was unhealthy and all together sinister. He swallowed.

Potter-Harry looked so lost, somehow, so young.

"Come in and set him down instead of standing there gormlessly," he instructed, voice gruff, but not as venomous as he would have liked.

Potter didn't notice; his thrice cursed grandfather did, though he didn't comment.

This whole situation was wrong.

Zevi spooned out his love potion, moving to hand it to Riddle. He caught the extended arm on instinct, before flinching from the touch.

"He's love sick. Be careful. I'll need to heal any internal injuries after."

"Love sick?" his grandfather - and how could the boy be in front of him so young, like a damned ghost and memory of times he didn't want to remember! - demanded, eyes wide.

"What does that mean?" Potter demanded, taking several step forward, eyes scanning their faces fiercely. "What do you mean 'sick,' I thought you said he'd taken a love potion - internal injuries?"

He was somewhat chilled by the quality the Boy-Who-Lived's voice had taken. He didn't expect such a dangerous tone from a fifteen - _sixteen_ year old.

It sent shivers down his spine, though he didn't show it.

"Explain," he told Zevi curtly. "I'll heal him."

* * *

Half an hour later, Harry was back in the ballroom, apologising profusely to Luna for abandoning her.

The blonde had only smiled at him in response, dancing happily enough.

This had been the worst Valentine's day ever, though Tom was fine now. He wouldn't be back here if he wasn't.

The other was dancing with everyone, and modifying everyone's memories of how he had acted too, Harry bet.

All in all, this Valentine's day may have been more disturbing then second year, and there hadn't even been singing dwarves. He shuddered.

He never wanted to see Tom Love sick again. It was terrifying.

The whole fiasco was being dealt with tomorrow, apparently, though investigations had already subtly began. He sighed.

A shadow cast over the table he was sitting at, and he glanced up.

"Dance with me," Tom declared, before he could speak. Harry blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"_Dance with me_," Tom repeated, offering him a hand.

"I can't dance with you, you're a guy," Harry squeaked. The other raised a brow.

"Astute of you to notice, well done. Now get up, give me your hand, and dance with me."

Harry laughed, somewhat hysterically.

"People will stare."

"I don't care, I want to dance with you. I've danced with everyone else. Get up."

"I'll step on your toes," Harry said.

"I'll crush your feet if you dare," Tom smirked. "Don't be a coward now, darling."

Harry stood, despite his better judgment, more amused than he cared to admit aloud.

"I'll dance with you if I get to lead."

"Not a chance."

* * *

Hermione watched Harry and Tom dance, not really capable of not staring. T

hey were very good dancers, and drawing a lot of attention for it, their black tuxedo's whirling around them.

Their dancing was also rather odd in that they seemed to randomly be swapping who was leading every minute or so. In a way, she felt like the movement epitomised their relationship…or maybe she'd been dancing too long. Still.

Despite the unusualness of their dancing, and the fact they were both male, they seemed to be rather enjoying themselves, both grinning. Happy.

She smiled to herself. Ron stared at them next to him, mouth agape.

"Do they realise what they look like?" he demanded. Luna grinned, sipping at her glass of pumpkin juice like a cat that had got the cream.

"They don't care."

And maybe they didn't.

* * *

**A/N: Sniff. This was supposed to be so light and fluffy and funny and - and it came out like this! NOOOO! It's so dark. I'm so sorry. It took forever, so I thought I'd post it, but now I'm getting the urge to spam you all with fluff.**

**Er, happy Valentine's day? **


	21. War and Peace

1) Fighting

Neville knew immediately that something was wrong.

He wasn't entirely certain how he knew, nothing happened to signify it, but…he had a feeling, a painful clenching in his gut. It was subtle, like waters drawing back into a tsunami, the tiniest sign to forewarn of coming disaster. And then the silence shattered, the calm shattered, and his eyes shot to the Slytherin table.

Riddle.

Harry.

His eyes widened with absolute shock.

One second it seemed they had just been sitting, and the next, wands were drawn and Riddle had a tight grip of Harry's throat, pushing him back against the table. Harry's fingers were sheathed as if they were claws, digging into the elder Slytherin's hand.

If Neville was fanciful, he could have sworn he could see pinpricks of blood forming on Riddle's hands where those nails left their vicious mark. The Slytherins had all frozen, alternatively staring at the table and at the so called Slytherin Duo.

He couldn't figure out what was causing the spat, and then, a terrible hissing filled the hall, as if a cruel voice was whispering straight into his ear.

"_So be it, hero…I speak now to you all…give me Harry Potter and no one else shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I will leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have half an hour." _

They all stared at each other, not entirely sure what was going on, but knowing it was bad. It seemed you-know-who had once more frequented Hogwarts grounds, and this time he'd brought his army.

Neville shivered.

He'd had nightmares about being outside on one of the Dark Lord's 'visits.' There was a moment of utter silence, like the fading ring of glass. He had a feeling he knew what Harry and Tom may have been, so publicly, fighting about now. Everyone was staring at them.

They seemed like a snapshot for a moment, still tangled in their struggle. If was too tense for anyone to even start screaming in panic, they just…watched.

Fixated. Even Harry and Tom themselves seemed momentarily paused, but it didn't last long.

"Tom-" Harry began.

"No," the other cut in, ferociously.

"I wasn't asking permission," Harry continued, relentlessly, speaking even louder, albeit breathless from the fingers on his windpipe. "Get. Out. Of. My. Way."

"I wasn't asking your opinion," Riddle returned, sweetly. "It's not happening. He can't have you."

"Come now, Tom, learn to share," Harry spat, seemingly in goad, finally managing to wrench the grip off his neck, though he was still pressed against the Slytherin table. "If you go out there _you will be destroyed_"

"He's going to come in if I don't, it doesn't make a difference, aside from the fact that everyone else is forced to pointlessly die and suffer with me. Let go of me!"

Harry gave a colossal push, using all of his strength, straightening and taking several steps towards the door, before Riddle had righted himself and had lunged for Harry again, tossing him backwards from the way out, almost sending the other sprawling to the floor with the violent force of the action.

He didn't think they were aware of their audience, they couldn't be, absorbed in each other and the threat of Voldemort. It was…intimidating to say the least.

Neville was sure he would have turned weak at the knees under the dark glare on Tom's face, the ice in those eyes. Harry's wand was pointed square at Riddle's heart.

"Tom, I have to do this, _please_, move, or I will make you." It was no idle threat, he could tell that clearly enough from the sudden menace in Harry's voice, infused with the desperation.

"How are you going to do that, darling?" Tom replied, softly. "In case you hadn't noticed, you're outnumbered."Harry's eyes flicked momentarily to the pale faced Slytherins around them, before back to Riddle.

"You're being ridiculous-"

"Yes, it's ridiculous of me to try and save your life," Riddle interrupted, coldly. "I should just let my best friend walk out and sacrifice himself, right?"

"Yes, actually, you should!" Harry exclaimed, sounding furious. Neville's breath caught in his throat at the expression on Riddle's face. He couldn't see Harry's. Tom took a lethal step forward.

* * *

Cho Chang studied the two of them, fascinated and fearful, unable to tear her eyes away despite the oncoming battle on their doorstep.

Riddle took a step forward, looking every inch as if he were a predator, something inhuman. It set her teeth on edge.

Harry tensed in response, and she could scarcely believe the words coming out of their mouths. It made tears begin to well in her eyes - was Harry seriously planning to go out there alone, to face the Dark Lord? Her heart pounded. She agreed with Riddle on that one.

No. Absolutely not.

Harry's eyes were sad, so very sad.

"It's for the greater good, Tom, you know it is-"

"And you should know I don't give a _damn _about the greater good, golden boy. I care about _you_. You're not going out there, and your brains have shrunk if you think you are."

The flicker, the falter, in Harry's expression was painful to watch. He swallowed quite visibly, seeming to drink in every aspect of the boy in front of him, suddenly appearing very young and vulnerable.

She still felt stupid for the one time she'd tried to date him. He'd agreed, but…it was odd. She'd never been his priority, even when she was his girlfriend or date.

Most of the time, Riddle had made her feel like an intruder actually, and she realised now that she had been.

Whether they acknowledged it or not, these two were clearly in love with each other, and while in theory Harry seemed to like the idea of getting a girlfriend, in practise, no girl could stand being constantly second or even third on his list.

Besides, everything romantic between Harry and a girl, or she would even imagine another boy, seemed so cheap and shallow when placed next to the dynamic the duo had. Riddle scared a lot of people off anyway.

And it wasn't one sided, she'd seen Harry practically breathe fire when students began to encroach on his time with the handsome Slytherin.

The oddest part was, they obviously weren't that self aware of their relationship…if Harry actually thought he stood a chance of persuading Riddle to change his mind on this matter…the elder Slytherin was possessively overprotective! He'd never allow this.

She wished they'd just kiss already.

Harry seemed to compose himself again, jaw clenched.

"And that's why I have to do this, don't you see?" Harry sounded most agitated, frustrated. "I can't let him anywhere near you, it's me he wants, he'll leave you alone if you're not with me! Don't throw away your life on my behalf, it's not-"

"Don't you _dare _say it's not worth it," Riddle hissed. "That devalues not only yourself but my judgements too." Tom took another step closer, and, in contrast, Harry took a step back.

* * *

Zevi was certain that his heart had stopped. The tension between the two was palpable, so strong that it was almost a physical force, a black hole that sucked them both ever closer to each other, and their audience with them.

His gaze flicked between them from his vantage point, hungrily noting the story as it played, the twist and pull of power and, dare he say it, affection?

Harry stared at Tom, too expressionless to truly be calm.

"You knew I was never going to go along with your plan," Harry said quietly. "So stand aside, we might as well get this over with."

"And you knew I have no tolerance for yours, nor for your self-destructive tendencies, so give up and _sit down." _

They glared at each other, viciously, neither backing down.

The black hole grew stronger. He was genuinely surprised that they weren't physically attacking - much - yet. It wouldn't be much longer though on that front, they were both leaning in, positions geared for fight or flight.

"I'm sorry, Tom," Harry's voice had grown soft, so soft. "But you must have known this was coming. You said it yourself, this was never going to be a fairytale."

"Just as well that's _not_ your goodbye to me, because it was pathetic," Tom replied curtly.

Their lord's eyes slid to them, with a nod. An order. His heart panged.

Then they were fighting.

* * *

Luna Lovegood watched with more impassiveness than she felt, knowing that despite the huge amount of spectators the duo had, this was something they desperately needed to work out themselves.

It was so intense that it almost blinded her to watch, and her heart fluttered to see it. It would have been nice to be loved so fiercely as Harry and Tom loved each other, though, despite what some may think, she didn't think it was sexual.

She'd seen enough of Tom to strongly believe he was asexual, more than anything, and Harry…well, Harry was Harry. They were struggling, too close for wands, and she suspected there was a reason for that too.

Wands weren't as personal, and if this was truly goodbye between them, she suspected neither of them wanted impersonality. This was more intimate, and it wasn't like they weren't using magic - spells were flying between them as much as physical strength was.

They just weren't duelling in a standard fashion. The environment around them had become weaponry.

She smiled to think Tom Riddle cared enough to let go of his reputation and persona to engage in something like this in the middle of the Great Hall.

She honestly didn't know who would win.

She didn't think either would.

If Harry left, they both lost in a way, they lost each other, and ironically Tom lost most for being the survivor. If Harry stayed, Harry lost against Tom's machinations and schemes, and Tom was victorious, but lost something of Harry. They compromised an awful lot, but she knew neither would compromise on this.

She held her breath, watching as the magic danced between them along with the sway of control.

Harry. Tom. Harry. Tom.

It swung wildly back and forth, too matched, too equal. Her insides twisted.

And then the other Slytherins got involved.

Four against one, especially when one of those four was the young Dark Lord himself, Harry didn't stand a chance, disarmed. It was cheating.

A dirty trick.

Yet, no one would question it but Harry, for none of them wanted to see Harry dead.

And if they did, she suspected they were too terrified of the pressure-pad explosive that was Tom Riddle, and everything it was more than clear he would do to them if they got in his way right now.

Voldemort may have been outside, but keeping him out by offering Harry only transferred the threat to something much closer.

She had always thought that if Death should be a man with a physical body, that he would look and be a bit like Tom Riddle. Handsome.

Death would always have a very charming smile when he came to steal you away.

She supposed Harry could be Death too. But neither was. They just played with his toys, and Death had marked them in return.

Fate and Luck had moved onto their final round.

* * *

Harry kicked out with his legs, upon losing his wands, knocking Zevi and Alphard out, and hardly daring to care for it now. There was too much at stake here.

He switched to a more intensive form of muggle fighting, and had almost twisted free, eyes blazing - trust Tom to cheat, even now by involving the others! - when hands clamped like steel bands around his torso from behind.

Tom.

He inhaled the familiar scent, senses all hyperaware with the threat and the oncoming battle, struggling against the grip. He could feel Tom fighting just as hard to keep him there as he was fighting to leave. Damn Riddle.

Didn't he understand at all? Harry's plan would work, and it was the best for everyone involved. The future didn't blow up, and no insane complex combinations of appallingly black magic was needed.

_He didn't lose everything. _

"**Harry," **Tom's words tickled his ear in harsh whisper. "**Damn it, I will have you handcuffed to the table legs if you don't stop fighting me! Think how embarrassing that would be, for you?" **

He dug his elbow in sharply, earning a pained gasp from the Slytherin Heir, held back through gritted teeth, but the hold didn't loosen, instead curling around the offending appendage and snapping. Snapping.

His arm was broken.

Tom just broke his arm.

In the middle of the Great Hall.

In front of the entirety of the school.

_Bastard. _

He broke the other's foot in response, and the next, the next second there was blackness.

* * *

Tom was frantically scrawling in his notebook, a few minutes later, when Harry's eyes blinked open again. He was fully aware of the utter spectacle this fight had been, and found that he couldn't bring himself to care.

He would be leaving this time period soon, what did the opinion of these people matter to him? They wouldn't exist to remember it.

The younger looked absolutely furious.

He couldn't bring himself to care about that either.

At least this way, Harry still had the presence of mind to be angry about such things, rather than being a vegetable.

The teachers and students were beginning to bustle about in preparation for fight, but a good majority - idiots - were still gaping at him and Harry as if there was nothing more interesting in the world to see or do, as if they weren't on the brink of war.

Most people were so stupid, it sickened him.

Harry glared, trying to sit up, only to pause when he couldn't.

Tom glanced up, let a lazy, taunting smirk slip onto his face. He didn't know why Harry seemed to think he was joking when he made threats.

Harry glared even more, tugging at his bound wrists. He watched with some indifference as they began to bleed from the motion. Blood was life.

After a moment, Harry slumped, studying him.

"You cheated."

"Of course," he said. "I couldn't afford to lose, and I never promised to fight fair."

"You're being stubborn."

He raised his eyebrows pointedly in response. Kettle meet Pot.

"You haven't finished your spell, have you?" Harry demanded. "Otherwise the world would be up in flames of oblivion by now…come on, you're not going to finish it within the time you have left…give it up. Let me go. Let me finish this."

"No," he said calmly. "And actually, I'll be done in about five minutes, and you don't have all the parts."

"Don't you need my cooperation?" the other tried. He laughed aloud at that.

"Considering how vocal you tend to be about your lack of support for my plans, do you really think, if I was creating a spell, that it would necessitate your cooperation?"

"What about after the spell, I could make things awfully difficult for you-"

"And that's a change from now…_how_, exactly?" he returned, absently, still scribbling. H

e was on the finishing touches, really.

He'd planned to do the spell tonight anyway…okay, so next week, after he'd done some tests…but it seemed he was out of time. They'd be gone in half an hour.

Harry's jaw clenched, and he strained once more against the bonds. Tom ignored him, scanning across his page.

"I won't talk to you at all, then," Harry said. "I'll just run. You'll never see me again. That makes this pointless, does it?"

His eyes flashed despite himself, though he kept his tone carefully nonchalant.

"Then I will enjoy hunting you down.

""I'll simply leave again.

""Well, that sounds like interaction," he returned, without missing a beat, meeting those vivid emerald eyes once more.

Harry's gaze darkened in concession to the point, his stare fixed, intent upon this game that wasn't a game.

"You wouldn't be able to keep me there."

"I'm able to keep you around me now," he pointed out, with a hint of smugness.

"You'd get nothing from me."

Ah.

He opened his mouth to retort to that, before freezing, his head tilting. Harry's gaze had darkened…what if it wasn't through concession? Not fully? What if…what if…

"No," he whispered, lashing out with the mind, only to find that Harry had already sought out Voldemort's.

He dropped his quill, ink scattering across the floor, staining his hands and robes and he didn't bloody care, seizing Harry's face tightly, black smearing across red lips and white skin, anything to break his concentration.

Pain.

Harry couldn't do this in pain-his hand moved automatically up to the lightning bolt scar.

Green eyes bled to crimson, and a sad smile made it's way across Harry's lips.

"_Empathio reformo_."

And then he was screaming.

* * *

2) Harmony

"_So be it, hero…I speak now to you all…give me Harry Potter and no one else shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I will leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have half an hour." _

Neville heard the sibilant hiss as if it had spoken directly into his ear, so full of menace and hatred that it made him shiver.

Magic ran across the hall, and people were panicking, starting to scream with the fear of the Dark Lord and his army. A firm voice cut through the terror where even McGonnagal couldn't (Dumbledore was, once more, elsewhere, busy with war preparations…and wasn't that an irony, considering his school was under attack for that exact fight?) and causing an instant hush, only emphasised by a fire cracker like bang.

His head spun round to the Slytherin Table. Harry and Tom stood side by side, both looking utterly calm, Riddle more so. Their eyes burned with twin flames of determination and, in the Slytherin's gaze, rather too much enjoyment for him to be fully comfortable. It was Harry who had called out.

The students, and even the staff, stared at the two of them - so united, completely in tune with each other, auras crackling with power.

"Panic will not help you," Riddle said softly. "Be calm. It's alright."

Neville couldn't see how it could possibly be alright, but he found himself relaxing marginally under that soothing voice.

"We have half an hour to prepare ourselves," Harry continued. "And we have half an hour to evacuate too, and the necessary means to do it."

"You're not going out there?" McClaggan demanded next to him.

He wondered how the other boy dared.

Harry's eyes flicked over, expression seeming neutral for all the world. Neville couldn't help but wonder how he truly felt.

Riddle's eyes weren't neutral, they sliced through the Gryffindor like lasers, so dark and intense that the boy swallowed, looking down, a red flush of shame creeping across his cheeks.

"Brave little lion, aren't you?" Riddle smiled, cruelly. "You can be the first to leave, and, to answer your question, no, Harry isn't going out there."

There was a tone of finality to Riddle's choice, of absolute ringing command. Harry shot the other a look, half amused, part chiding and a fragment of something else entirely.

Somehow the familiarity of the action comforted him, even as his heart pounded.

"No one is forced to stay, we would never ask that. As I was about to go on to explain, there are several ways out of the castle available to us - namely, the floo from the Headmaster's Office. I know the password, and I'm sure the other Professors would also be willing to open their fireplaces up," Harry said.

The Professor's all agreed, if sounding a little numb. He was somewhat shocked to find these two were taking charge, and then, not really surprised at all.

"Those who do not wish to fight, can make their way to the according escape routes now, in an orderly fashion," Riddle instructed. "No judgement will be passed against you if don't wish to stay."

Somehow, the way he said that, so easily and kindly even, made Neville feel compelled to fight. He knew he wasn't the bravest person, and that he may have been better suited to the House of the Badgers, but something about them - the utter confidence and ease and charm in their tones and postures, perhaps - almost stirred the feeling that he could do anything.

"How do we know where to go?" a small first year student asked, shyly, blushing crimson. Harry smiled at her, thoughtfully.

"Dobby," he called out, after a moment. Neville almost jumped out of his skin at the sharp crack. "Could you and some of the other house elves take those who want to leave to the appropriate exits, and then make sure they get out safely? The castle's under attack."

The House elf's - Dobby's? - eyes shined, and he pulled up a mismatched sock with shoulders drawn back with pride. He almost blinked at the odd sight, and knew many other students were too.

"Dobby would be honoured Harry Potter sir," the elf trembled, cracking a toothy grin, disappearing, before reappearing with more cracks.

Five more House elves stood next to him, though they were meeker looking, more like the house elves he was used to.

"Come follow Dobby please, anyones wanting to leave now." The house elf called, springing nimbly to the door, clashing a frying pan with a spoon like a bell.

"Thanks Dobby, I appreciate it," Harry called out.

And then the two were spreading out, giving orders.

Some left.

Most stayed.

* * *

Cho gaped, absolutely stunned at the sight before her.

She remembered when she'd first met Harry Potter properly, he'd been a flustered, slightly awkward and gawky teenager, with a handsome smile and an obvious liking for her that had been both sweet and flattering.

She'd never expected to see him grow to this in a year…except, it was over a year to him, wasn't it?

He had gained a new confidence, coordinating perfectly with Riddle, as if they didn't even need to speak, though they crossed over every now and then, trading words and glances and suggestions and plans.

Touches too, if they happened to meet. A clap on the arm, a brush of shoulders, a tug of a wrist if they needed the other specifically for an area of expertise.

Somehow, it was more intimate and meaningful than any kiss or hug, and she envied the naturalness of their interaction, and the way they seemed to shine.

She heard Harry request the Weasley Twins ready their pranks to be used against the enemies - and was once more reminded of the difference between the innocent boy who'd had a crush on her and the man striding around the Great Hall now.

The old Harry Potter would never have suggested chucking live fireworks into the enemy, in the manner of explosives, knowing full well the lethal damage and distraction such fun sparks could cause.

Tom Riddle had gone around, with a keen eye, splitting people into two groups for different purposes - infantry and cavalry, plans and instructions streaming from his lips at lightning speed, yet concise and easily understandable.

She couldn't help but admire how he seemed to have a grasp on all the skills at his disposal within seconds of someone's company.

He seemed to be forming a multi formed attack, putting different people in charge of the many smaller factions for controllability.

Harry organised some of the Quidditch Teams to use their brooms, flying over head to drop all manner of potions upon the enemy - the volatile substances much like the fireworks - and all manner of other missiles.

Riddle brought every snake in the castle alive, defending, fortified against the Dark Lord's parseltongue with quick, incantations, many of which she didn't recognise.

Even the teachers milled around the duo, offering suggestions, and taking them, deferring to the authority of the two teenagers.

She felt her jaw about to drop in amazement.

McGonnagal transfigured many other things, like the statues, alive in the castle, generally strengthening the wards, like all the teachers were.

Sprout set about finding her deadliest plants, to be set upon their opponent, aided by Neville Longbottom and other students.

Trelawney was bringing down crystal balls as missiles for the Quidditch team, and far too many bottles of sherry to be smashed across unsuspecting heads. She'd never understood why Parvati admired the woman so much, Rowena knew, her sister was smarter.

It was incredible to watch.

Soon both Harry and Tom had crowds around them, people requesting orders, their own initiatives beginning to grow under the capable hands of the 'Slytherin duo.'

She couldn't help but speculate what they would become.

Then Riddle (somewhat coolly, he hadn't liked her since she had so determinedly pursued Harry) ordered her to her own position.

* * *

Zevi couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and excitement watching the two of them, a curiosity to see how this was going to play out, and an undying loyalty rushing unwaveringly through his blood stream.

He'd only dreamed of seeing them work together like this, it was magnificent, flawless. They seemed to communicate with only the briefest of words, completely on the same wave length, bouncing ideas off each other across the hall, correcting each other as they went and editing without slowing down.

He also couldn't help but notice, like he was sure many others wouldn't, that they were both enjoying themselves in a way.

Harry would deny it, he was sure, and he was certain Harry didn't like the situation in that people could get hurt and harmed. He was thriving off the danger though, and dance he and Riddle were making.

Whether he liked it or approved of it or not, Harry was in his element, and so was Tom.

He dumped another numerous potions down, unable to feel tired, absolutely wired with the thrill and energy those two were radiating to everyone who came into contact them.

He heard snatches of inspirational speeches and comments. And then, a few minutes later, half an hour dawning it's approach, he saw Harry and Tom come together again more firmly.

Tom seized Harry by the wrist, reeling him closer where they would have normally only spun past each other in their hurry (the most remarkable thing, to him, was the trust they were showing each other, neither trying to assert full control, settled for once in their mutual goal, in sync and only verifying it every so often, filling each other in, not doubting.)

He suspected they did have their own games and plans, still, private to them, but it wasn't affecting their teamwork. Their agendas were, for once and majestically, in agreement.

He noted a notice-me-not surround them, a slight repellent, a muting charm. People would see them, but they wouldn't bother them for the moment.

"We can't stall him forever," Tom said, quietly. Harry's eyes cast around the hall, the only sign in his composure that he was troubled.

"I know. Do you have a plan?"

"Do you?" Tom returned, studying the other. "If it's the Horcruxes, unity and students be damned I will steal you away to the nearest exit."

Harry smirked, faintly, at that, eyes glittering, though sad too.

"_Harry," _Tom practically growled, dangerously, the grip tightening.

Harry shook his head after a moment.

"It's not that…I…Salazar…let's just say I'm stalling long enough that a bigger army arrives for us. You're not doing your plan either, not today." The words were firm.

"We agreed, did we not?" Tom returned. "And yes, I think I may have a solution."

Harry stared back, waiting for the young Dark lord to sort out his thoughts.

And then he unfortunately slipped into Parseltongue.

Damn it. He always missed the best parts!

* * *

Later, Luna watched, sadly distractedly, as Harry and Tom led the attack, twirling around their opponents with such elegance that she would have though them choreographed if not for the chaosmumbiees in the air around them.

It was very pretty.

Most people were preoccupied in their own battles, but she'd always been drawn to the passage of history. And she had always felt invested in these two.

They needed each other so.

It was as breath-taking watching them work in cooperation as it was gripping to see them fight. She smiled to see it, flicking her wand to turn a Death Eater attacking her into a butterfly.

The woman would have probably been happier. Free. Fluttering.

She frowned as a stray spell abruptly shot the butterfly to pieces, before deciding that must just be nature's way.

Harry pushed Tom out the way of a curse, Tom shielded Harry, Harry destroyed a Death Eater about to destroy Riddle, Riddle tugged Harry out the way, almost crushing the younger to his chest for a few second, before spinning the other out again, hands still joined, like a whip, while Harry did a rather fabulous kick, knocking out an approaching threat.

They settled into the dance again.

It was awesome.

Then Voldemort appeared before them.

* * *

Harry surveyed Voldemort more calmly then he felt, feeling as if the entire world had slipped away but for the three of them.

Indeed, no other Death Eater dared to try and approach and defeat them in search of glory.

He exchanged a glance with Tom, quick, reaffirming.

The other nodded back.

They shifted to a duelling stance.

It was time to blow Fate to smithereens, the bitch.

* * *

Tom was piercingly aware of everything around him, and nothing more than the boy - no, not so much a boy tonight - the man beside him.

Harry Potter Evans.

When the younger had first landed on him in Potions fifty years ago, he'd never imagined that this would be the outcome.

He'd expected a new project, even a prized pet and toy, something challenging soon enough.

Somewhere along that had changed, in some ways.

Harry was still his project, and was still challenging and engaging as if they met yesterday. He was certainly amusing enough to be a toy too, and they played enough games to warrant the name.

But he was so much more than that.

Friend.

Family.

Soulmate.

Enemy.

Rival.

Partner.

He exchanged a glance, before shifting into a duelling stance, meeting the gaze of a crimson future ghost with utter venom.

Just let Voldemort try and take Harry from him. The snake faced man was a dead man walking.

Every day and never.

The world wouldn't know what hit them.

And neither would Lord Voldemort.

They fought.

* * *

A/N: Inspirations - From Lord Toewart and Red (thank you both, I hope you enjoyed it)

* "_Harry and Tom get in a fight, not one of their little public spats, but a full-out fight, the kinds where Harry gets thrust against walls and Tom gets incredibly vicious. But this doesn't happen in the Slytherin common room, no, it happens in the Great Hall, where everyone is dining. The fight turns into one of their more... intimate rows. In front of the entirety of the , and don't forget this whole thing is told in the eyes of various students, i.e. Cho Chang, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Colin Creevey."_

_*A suggestion for DD oneshot, Harry and Tom team up and duel against other students, or the death eaters. I don't know I want to see them fight together rather than against each other._

_I hope you enjoyed it, and that my somewhat lack of dialogue wasn't too detrimental to my writing quality. As you can see, I tried something different. The basic idea is that it's the same scene, situation, but with the difference of Harry and Tom fighting each other, and working together. Um, yeah. Hope you enjoyed it!_


	22. Stay

_Well, this is different..._

Seconds:

Tom froze, the werewolves charging towards them, howling under the full moon, seeking revenge for Voldemort's death and abandonment.

Teeth, shining, his wand slashing down to incapacitate the creatures. Too close. Too fast. The next second he was shoved roughly out of the way, tumbling to the side. His eyes widened. His head bashed against sodden grass.

_Harry. _

Blood everywhere, wolves. His wand slashed down again as they turned on him, his aim vicious and true. The beasts dropped. He sprinted back over, dropping to his knees next to his best friend's crumpled, mangled, _bitten _form. Merlin. He turned the other over, frantically checking for a pulse.

"Harry-crap, what the hell did you do-come on-"

"T-Tom?" a dull, pained, hazy gaze blinked at him. He tightened his grip.

"_Harry_-"

"Wolves gone?"

"Yes-darling-"

"S'good."

Emerald eyes fluttered closed.

* * *

Days:

Harry didn't know how it had come to happen, but it had. It was the worst time he'd ever been in the hospital Wing. He wasn't even sure of the events themselves, they seemed a blur now, despite probably being a defining moment in the rest of his life.

He'd been in the hospital wing for three days now, as Madame Pomfrey healed his torn body and explained his situation to him in an awfully pitying, horrified nuance of calm.

Werewolf bite.

He'd only just been allowed visitors for a day now. He wasn't sure he wanted any. Yet, he did.

Salazar.

It wasn't that he had anything against werewolves, he didn't! Remus was a werewolf and he was one of the best and most human men Harry had ever been fortunate enough to meet.

Most people though…his shoulders felt heavy with the weight of shattered dreams and futures. Werewolves were dangerous creatures, inferior beasts, in the eyes of most the Wizarding world.

Not allowed jobs, or children, or so many of the rights of 'healthy' people.

He swallowed thickly, refusing to be pathetic enough to cry. They were barely even accepted in the society. He was seventeen. He wanted to shred Fenrir Greyback painfully apart for taking everything away from him.

No…that was bitter…he shouldn't be…

Tom would never accept a werewolf.

It was a liability, he couldn't do anything, he could hardly help on a political campaign when…his kind were so looked down upon.

He'd seen the disgust and loathing with which the other had eyed Remus, and he could feel the loathing radiating through the link.

The rest of the Slytherins hated werewolves too, and had made no objection to expressing on this opinion before. He smiled, a twisted smile, to think what they would say right now.

Hermione and Ron talked emptily beside him, as they had been doing since they allowed in. He could see it in their eyes though.

That horror. That fear. That _pity. _

Remus had been distraught, despising that another should be forced to share his fate.

Pomfrey was having a hard time keeping the reporters out too, but he'd seen the papers.

Monster. Animal. Reduced humanity.

It was a scandal. A bloody scandal.

Neither Tom nor any of the Slytherin's had come.  
He didn't expect them too.

Merlin.

He could see that in Ron and Hermione's, Neville and Luna's, eyes too.

They knew Tom wasn't going to come as well as he did.

Tom worked on a basis of what benefited him. Keeping company with a werewolf didn't benefit. He lost control on a monthly basis now, degenerated to something bestial.

Tom hated loss of control and weakness more than anything, even muggles. They'd started to trying to console him about it, with angry words and insults to the Slytherin Heir and everyone Slytherin.

He didn't want to hear it. He'd told them so.

He felt numb. His chest constricted. His bones heavy.

Everything seemed slightly sharper, and he knew his senses had improved somewhat due to his newfound inner wolf.

He could feel it. Prowling. A constant struggle. It wanted to be free, full control. Not just on a full moon.

Harry suspected he knew what his new Boggart would be, and shuddered. He was pathetic.

Tom's hatred burned the back of his mind.

He was in the Hospital Wing for another full week.

He'd made his decision by then.

-_Stay__-_

Tom looked up, automatically, when the door to the Slytherin Common Room slid open.

_Lovegood? _How did she even get in here? Had Harry given her the password? His jaw clenched.

She stalked over to him, no dazed dreams in her eyes tonight, and slapped him hard across the face.

He reared immediately, wand out, before he realised his oath to Harry, not to harm those he cared about, and settled for a ferocious glare. She spoke before he could.

"Why haven't you gone to go see him?" she demanded. _Harry. _

His eyes closed.

Werewolf. Liability. Not useful. But Harry. How could the future ruler of the world be seen with a werewolf like that? Things were so delicate at the moment. He needed time to think anyway, to analyse and comprehend what had happened, how things would change.

But it was _Harry. _

Yet, reputation, reputation, reputation! Harry would be fine. He knew.

He'd be out from the Hospital wing and then…sometime…they would talk. Talk about how it was technically Tom's fault that he'd got bitten, dragged into the whole wolfish mess, and how he had really done it this time and ruined the other boy's life.

How much Harry hated him.

Actually,on the whole, it was better to avoid that conversation as long as he could, the better to plan it and analyse and _think. _

In the meanwhile, he plotted to take down Fenrir Greyback, his pack, and anyone the wolf ever dared care about. Hurt him.

Burn him. _Destroy _him. How dare he? How dare the mangy mutt bite Harry, almost tear him limb to limb. Turn him. And how could he not have reacted faster? He'd condemned HArry to this! His best friend! His only friend, really.

"Why would he?" Abraxas asked, numbly. "He's a werewolf. They're not even human."

"They still have feelings! It's still Harry!" Luna near hissed, eyes wild. Luna.

He supposed there was something about the moon about her too.

He kept his features composed with more difficulty than before. Her eyes shot down across him, across his work. His notes. His plans. And their plans too. Her expression softened, minutely.

"Please Tom, just go and see him, just…what's more important to you? Revenge or Harry?"

Harry. Always. His eyes hardened.

"Get out of our common room, girl, before we throw you out."

He needed to analyse.

To make Fenrir Greyback suffer.

-_Stay-_

Hermione Jean Granger was absolutely furious, livid, steaming at the ears.

From her eyes, the tears didn't want to stop flowing.

It was unfair. It was bitterly unfair.

She'd never hated anyone as much as she'd hated Tom Riddle now.

How _could_ he? How could he just abandon Harry for something like this, after everything they'd been through? The bastard.

She wanted to punch him, to hurt him as much as he'd hurt her best friend. Because Harry had been hurt, heartbroken even.

Shadows had grown to black his, now oddly golden and green, gaze, darkening it with haunting. Of course, Harry had tried to act nonchalant, but the fact that he'd absolutely refused to have Tom mentioned around him after four days of no-show, no communication or even indication of anything from the young Dark Lord, told more than his sealed lips cared to share.

And now…well.

Now Harry was gone, the second he was released from the Matron's clutches.

That wasn't solely Riddle's fault, and she could understand Harry's reasoning - her best friend could scarcely have any worthwhile future in the Wizarding world with all the anti-werewolf laws and regulations, and the hate mail and fear and complaints about having a Dark creature, even the saviour, in Hogwarts.

He'd took off. In the middle of the night, while everyone slept, with no sign to show he'd ever been there.

Her fingers curled in on themselves, pricking blood on her palms.

It was what he always did when he couldn't cope, he withdrew completely, distancing himself from everyone. This time, she wasn't certain if he was going to come back.

She scrubbed fiercely at her eyes.

Why Harry? Why did it have to be Harry?

She had nothing against werewolves, but almost everyone in the Wizarding world, especially the purebloods, really did.

No wonder Harry had left instead of facing it. He was strong, the strongest man she knew, but…Riddle had completely rejected him for the change. He certainly hadn't visited, or shown any sign that he was okay with it.

Why would he be? He viewed Wizards to be the superior being, even if talked about "magical purity."

Now, she ran into Riddle and his pathetic cohorts for the first time since Harry had left, only that night.

It hadn't got round the school yet, though there were starting to be some whispers. He stopped, eyes flicking over the empty space at her and Ron's and Neville's side.

She glared, hoping he would take the hint and stay away. He didn't. Of course he didn't.

He came to a stop before them, expression neutral.

"Where's Harry?"

"He's gone," she said, quietly.

They continued only walking, and she could hear some murmurings from the lackies. Riddle's fingers closed firmly around her arm, twisting her around, preventing her movement.

"Gone?" he repeated incredulously. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"Gone!" she near shrieked. "Packed up. Vanished. Left."

He stared at her, expression unreadable, eyes wide.

"When did he go? _Where?_"

She shrugged, helplessly, the tears rolling down her cheeks as much as she wanted to contain them from his piercing sight.

"Last night, left the Wizarding world, gone," Ron snapped. "Now let go of her, and get lost."

Tom's hand dropped from her as if scalded, though she doubted it was due to Ron's words.

"Gone?" he repeated again, faintly. "I-he didn't say anything to me."

Her heart panged, even worse than before.

"Why would he?" Ron growled. "You clearly don't care."

Hermione wasn't suddenly wasn't so sure.

_Oh, these two. _

Riddle's eyes were dark, alarmingly dark, as he looked at the red head.

"Where. Did. He. Go?" Tom demanded, very softly. "Is he coming back?"

Hermione felt the tears slip from her eyes again with a sob.

Tom's face turned ashen.

Tom stalked circles around the Slytherin Common Room, papers crumpled in his hands, lessons for that day discarded as worthless in the face of developments.

He couldn't believe Harry had gone.

Surely the other was coming back? He hadn't even come to say _goodbye. _And Tom would never let him go. Never let him go.

He thought desperately, eyes narrowed on his goal.

He would get Harry back. He would find him and bring him home. Where he belonged.

Of course he would. How hard would it be?

There was an odd, unfamiliar churning feeling in stomach. He felt cold inside.

Harry.

Harry was somewhere in the muggle world. He couldn't have gone far. He was still in Britain.

Gone. Harry had _gone. _

Left.

His magic crackled. He hadn't…he hadn't thought Harry would leave, hadn't anticipated it.

And Salazar, Lovegood had tried to warn him, hadn't she? He'd…he didn't know. It was new.

Harry had been a werewolf. Lycanthropy had no known cure. He'd lashed out, held his distance. Lost. Helpless. Hating the helplessness, hatinng it fiercely.

And now…what had he _done? _

Had he…Granger had told him in flat out, excruciating terms the impact of his actions.

He felt haunted, shaky. He hated that too.

Surely Harry would come back? This was all a mistake! He'd just - he'd been consumed by his need to destroy those who'd harmed Harry, despite claiming Harry was the most important thing…but he hadn't felt ready to face Harry and so he had stayed away and…hell.

His hands tugged at his hair, his posture rigid.

He had to find him. Drag him back if he had to. Harry couldn't leave! He hadn't even tried to say goodbye.

Weasley had snarled that Harry obviously didn't want to _inflict _his unwanted presence.

Unwanted. He'd made Harry think he didn't care. He tried to convince himself too.

Then Potter pulled this stunt.

Rage bubbled in his stomach. Ugh. He'd throttle his friend when he caught up with him.

The hunt started now.

* * *

Weeks:

Harry knew he should be contacting everyone, and, indeed, tonight he would have to contact at least Remus for some advice.

It was his first full moon.

He'd never been so scared. He couldn't stop shaking.

He knew it hadn't been fair to his friends and family to drop off the radar for two weeks, without notice, but he'd needed time to process. He'd contact Remus for help now.

He'd already notified Ron, Hermione and Sirius that he was okay, and that he wanted time, that they shouldn't try and find or contact him. H

is link with Tom had been buzzing on and off.

Tom tried to contact him through it, several times a day, but…he was hurt.

He knew it was stupid, but he wasn't ready to see the other man yet.

He didn't want to see the scorn, or the confirmation that things would never be the same. Because they couldn't ever be the same, how could they?

He'd needed Tom, desperately needed him, when he was in the hospital wing, his whole world and future shattered and the other hadn't come. Hadn't checked in.

He…was confused. Yet, he wasn't.

Tom couldn't afford to have his campaign (and Harry had been keeping an eye on that, it was the only thing he still entered the turned-hostile Wizarding world for) smeared by werewolf associates.

Werewolves were too untrusted, too feared and hated for the _disease _they carried.

He planned that future with Tom. He wasn't going to selfishly step in and destroy it.

Tom seemed fine, anyway, whenever Harry had seen him in newspaper pictures.

He hadn't seen the Slytherin heir in person since It happened.

He dared not get close enough to, for he suspected that the link would allow Tom to sense him, and he didn't want to know Tom's reactions should they cross path again.

He didn't want to see those eyes flash with recognition, only for the other to turn away. He sighed, collecting plates.

He was working at a muggle restaurant as a waiter, having lied about his age. He moved to a new place every couple of nights.

He didn't want to be found. That was probably obvious.

He missed the Wizarding World like a constant ache, and more than anything, he missed the way things used to be, even though it had only been a few weeks.

Most of all, he missed not having to fear the full moon that he'd once found so beautiful.

-_Stay-_

Tom shouldn't have been so surprised when it happened, and yet, he was.

He'd been distracted momentarily from his plan by the rise of the full moon, the relentless thoughts of how Harry was faring, how he was feeling…now, he knew all too well.

The link.

Harry's emotions and pain was overwhelming their connection as Harry began to lose control of himself. It was the most bizarre and tortureous sensation he'd ever felt.

He dropped to the floor, on his knees, his hands buried into his hair in hopes of alleviating the feeling.

He pushed with his Occlumency barriers, but it wasn't going away, though he could frantically feel Harry trying to pull back even in his agony.

His bones were breaking, he was sure of it, he felt sick to the stomach and was almost certain he was going to throw up.

He couldn't stop trembling, curled up in a ball, loathing how pathetic and pitiful he felt.

Then, after a minute or so, the feeling was gone and instead there was a…wildness.

Harry had transformed.

He lay on the ground, breathing harsh, pretty sure he would pass out if he tried to move. He hoped no one came in. He'd sit up, but found lying on the floor was better than found lying on the floor unconscious and even more vulnerable.

He traced his fingers across his ribs. No broken bones. Anywhere.

He realised with a start that must have been Harry's bones breaking with the transformation, with only the echo sent over to him.

Harry.

He'd tried so hard, and he still couldn't find the other boy. He was just gone.

Harry was gone.

His fists curled again, and he remained lying, hunched, shaking all over.

If he was capable of regret, he would surely feel it now.

All he wanted to do was grab Harry and shake him and punch him and hurt him and hold him and Salazar! He drew in a deep breath, eyes closed for a moment.

His eyes felt hot, burning, something catching in his chest. A choked sound ?

He didn't understand.

After five minutes, and a destroyed room, he locked his masks back into place.

Time to work.

* * *

Months:

Zevi Prince sat subdued in his seat.

They'd left Hogwarts now, for new lives and journeys.

Tom had started building his empire.

Tom was empty and icy, going through motions.

Tom never stopped trying to find Harry.

Yet, it seemed as if the other boy had dropped off the face of the earth, and he knew it frustrated his lord to no end, though he didn't speak of it.

Tom never spoke of Harry, and had all but banned the name from the lips of everyone around him as well, unless the name was to be spoken in the context of a lead on finding the other boy.

Abraxas, once, had tried to step in, to comfort, to soothe that Harry was a werewolf now, and could be nothing to any reasonable, high society wizard, let alone the Dark Lord. Abraxas had been in the hospital for the next month. He could still hear the screams ringing in his ears.

They got so much done for the campaign, each soaring ahead in their intended roles,

Tom especially.

He would have been happy, except he knew why things were tearing through so fast, why everything Tom did was ruthless and perfect and efficient.

It was because the other never stopped working.

If there were no leads on Harry, which there barely ever were (and those that were, tended to be long cold or false, and Salazar knew his lord had interrogated anyone close to Harry dozens of times with a vicious relentlessness) then Tom worked.

He worked and worked, never stopping, never staying for longer than he had to, as if he didn't want to be left alone in his own head.

And he worked alone.

Always alone.

With his rising reputation and status and power in their world, he knew their lord had even more admirers than ever. He paid them just enough attention to keep his empire running and growing, but he didn't get close. Not ever.

Every smile the Dark Lord gave was fake, and he could see that now, the insincerity, for he had the comparison of Harry and Tom.

It was bleak December morning the first time it happened.

They were in the midst of something of a political crisis, they clearly had a traitor and a leak, who was threatening to bring down their entire operation.

Tom was dealing with it with his normal flawless charm and façade, needing only to find out the identity of their traitor to dispose of them and twist everything to their advantage.

While he was thinking, great mind maps and different plans scattered across the room in brilliant chaos, Pansy Parkinson came in.

Their lord's features darkened slightly immediately, for he held absolute no fondness for the girl (fiancé to Draco Malfoy.) Pale faced, she walked over, a letter in her hand.

"I'm busy," Tom said coolly. "Give it to Abraxas or put it on my desk."

"I think it's written in parseltongue."

Tom's full attention snapped to the girl immediately, and the room seemed to freeze, holding it's breath. There was only one other who held the gift of the snake language, only Harry.

Their lord held out a hand, silently, to take the paper, ripping into it and reading the words with something like hunger in his eyes.

After a moment, he folded the paper with utmost care, slipping it into his inside pocket. Next to his heart.

Zevi wondered if the connotation of the action had been intentional symbolism on Tom's behalf or not.

The next second the young Dark Lord had near sprinted out and the rest of them exchanged bewildered looks, hardly daring to hope, and followed.

-_Stay-_

Tom's head was spinning.

He'd stared down at the scrap of paper - a torn out sheet from a muggle pad - and at the familiar writing. He wouldn't even have needed Parkinson's comment on who it was from, he would have recognised the scrawl anywhere.

He memorised the curl of the words all over again, the straight tail of the y, without the customary flick, the way some letters joined and others didn't seemingly on random.

_You'll find Blake in the bins next to your office. _

Blake. Blake was his traitor apparently, though how did Harry know? And how had Harry got to be so close to his office without his notice?

Had he walked past him? He couldn't have, no, he was certain he had not.

He would have known it was him instantly.

He would never be able to be in Harry's proximity without awareness.

Avoiding the cameras that tended to lurk around him and his promise, he slipped into the back alley.

Oscar Blake. His traitor. Political traitor, of course. He had his Tom Riddle public ministry persona and his other, more private character and his Death Eaters.

But that wasn't even the most important thing to him now.

The man appeared absolutely terrified, a piece of muggle duct tape over his mouth, his wand lying a few feet away and his hands bound.

Tom crouched before him, ignoring the gasps of his followed crowd. He flicked a wand to release the man's mouth. There was a full confession sheet, everything he needed to utterly decimate the man, as a necklace around his neck. Written by the man's own hand.

"_Legilimens."_

He cast the spell without hesitation, shattering the man's Occlumency barriers. Sure, he could have asked for a description, but it wouldn't satisfy him.

Even this wouldn't satisfy him. All his victories were hollow nowadays.

He would be satisfied once he had his infuriating best friend back.

Flashes, Blake drunk at a bar….boasting of his success to the young man next to him…Harry.

He wanted to pause the memory, frowning at the sight before him. Gold green eyes, tinted by the inner wolf, so like the colour he'd picked for the younger boy. Thinner. Far too thin. Tired. Troubled. Clothes alright, muggle. Cuts and bruises. Too many new faint scars. Crocodile smiles. Superficial laughter. A subtle change in appearances and disguise, but he saw through it in seconds.

Harry's attention turning to man…flattering attention…more boasting…and then the crackle of compulsion as the man wrote down all the things his tongue betrayed…eyes wide with terror in the darkened corner of the room…a fight…Harry's fighting had improved with his reflexes even more perfect than before…here.

He withdrew.

The man was panting, looking sick.

Harry had given away no information to his exact whereabouts. But he was still in Britain.

And he'd helped…

But he didn't come back.

_Please just let him come back._

* * *

Years:

Harry had expected it to be something so more significant, like them saving each other's lives or something, or some huge big, complex plot.

He hadn't expected it to happen like this.

He'd built a whole life for himself, often wondering if he should go back, but never daring to. The Wizarding World didn't want him back.

A new minister was taking a stand against dark creatures, including werewolves.

The laws became harsher, though certain groups were opposing them. He didn't know where Tom stood on these developments.

He'd come across many werewolves in the last three years. Good werewolves, bad werewolves, grey werewolves. He'd soon found out he didn't fit amongst them, any of them.

He just…didn't belong.

He didn't hate his inner wolf anymore, like Remus and so many others, and he didn't revel in the curse like the rest. He'd just…accepted it.

He'd come to something of a compromise with his wolf. In lycanthropic circles, he'd earned the nickname of "renegade."

The 'pure' wolves hated him for getting in their way with their plans to create an empire of wolves, and the good mistrusted him for his lack of clear pack and his obvious easiness with his wolf side.

Seemed he was a freak in supernatural terms too. How ridiculous.

He had dropped both Harry Potter and Harrison Evans behind him, shed his past. More or less. He couldn't afford those names anymore.

He still gave Tom a hand now and again, how could he not? He kept his distance though.

Tom had been continuously hunting him for the last three years, to the extent that it had almost become a game in itself. But he couldn't afford to get caught, though Tom had come close far too many times. They'd caught glimpses of each other, only for him to disappear by the time had got there.

And he'd often been going home, only to sense that aura in his current place of residence, and promptly left, for a new motel.

He'd never let his guard down.

He didn't know how it happened this time.

He'd been crossing Diagon alley (he refused to give up magic, even if he lived in the muggle world) when they'd quite literally walked/apparated in front and took a step forward into each other.

Harry stiffened, unable to believe it - and Fate really did like to screw with him, didn't it? - at this point Tom was very prominent in the Wizarding World at the age of 21. A renowned lawyer and politician and Dark Lord on the side.

He'd had to smile at that.

Harry himself, was twenty. He was pretty influential among the wolves, but he'd made a life out of obscurity, working from shadows. He knew he looked terrible.

They stared at each other for a moment, breathless, shocked.

Tom's lips formed his name, but no noise came out.

Harry tried to apparate a split second after Tom snapped up Anti-Apparation wards. Harry's eyes widened, and then, without a second thought, he sprinted up the alley in the opposite direction.

He heard a shout behind him.

"Harry-stop him! _Someone stop him_!"

People started at the order of the famous politician, trying to catch a glimpse of the person he was pursuing. Harry kept running, and with a quick glance behind him, saw Tom was following.

The other was sprinting across Diagon after him, leaping over anything that came in his way, or shoving it aside. Reputation, reputation, reputation. He thought Tom cared more for it, he certainly had three years ago.

People were starting to react, dodging into his way, pulling at his arms to slow them down, even firing stunners. He snarled and flashed wolf eyes at them, knowing that would cause them to back off.

They did, and he shook them almost all aside, feeling his world tunnelling with panic.

He didn't know why he was running. It wasn't dignified. But this was too sudden. He'd built a life. He was terrified to think what would happen if he let Tom crash into it again.

The Slytherin Heir hailed people to block off the entrance to the Leaky cauldron, out into his muggle haven where Tom would never find him, and so he began to dart down Knockturn instead.

He'd grown to know that alley well too…and then…then hands were tight on his shoulder, slamming him front first against the wall of the alley. His cheek grazed against the hard brick, around the same time handcuffs clamped over his wrists, pulled fiercely behind his back.

Silver handcuffs. He couldn't break them.

Bloody silver.

A growl, feral, slipped past his lips. He didn't dare fight back like he used to, in fear of cutting into Tom and infecting him. One cut, that was all it took. One bite. One part of his blood or saliva.

Fingers wrenched into his hair, turning his head round, Tom's mouth inches from his ear.

"**I knew I'd catch up with you eventually, darling,"** Tom hissed.

"**Let go of me,**" he demanded, flinching at that old nickname, the parseltongue unfamiliar on his lips after so long. "You're making a scene. This will be all over the papers!"

"Stop struggling and come quietly then."

"It's been three years-"

He was spun around, the slam backwards cutting his words off, looking into Tom's face properly, in person, for the first time in ages.

He was being held closely for the first time in three years too. His skin tingled under the grip.

The photographs hardly did justice to the real thing. Violet eyes, sparkling, always so alive. Dark hair, slender fingers with deceptive strength, a strong jaw line.

Everything like he'd remembered, just a bit older. Tired. Tom looked tired. A crowd was growing around them, whispers, murmurs.

"-Is that, Harry Potter?"

"-Used to be lovers-"

"-Bitten by Greyback-"

"-Best friends I heard-"

"-Werewolf-"

"-Slytherin Duo-"

"Do you think I'm unaware of that?" Tom breathed, eyes glittering dangerously. Harry's breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide. It hurt to see the other again.

"I'm not the same person as I was, neither of us are," he whispered. "Tom, just-"

He felt the anti apparation wards drop, and the crack of side-along apparation a moment later.

* * *

Eternity:

He stumbled as they landed, his wand twisted out of his grip. He drew back his body for a fight, only to cough, spluttering.

"Is that wolfsbane?" he asked, eyes streaming, his sense of smell greatly sharpened. Wolfsbane - wolf killer - aconite. "You going to kill me, Tom? Remember to remove the life bond."

He felt his heart pang at the thought.

He knew there was a good reason to avoid the man who could have been Lord Voldemort: other than the incredibly awkward conversation of I-took-a-werewolf-bite-for-you-and-you-couldn't-be-freaking-bothered-to-give-me-the-time-of-day-to-write-a-note-even-if-you-never-came.

Okay. So maybe the anger and _hurt _that had consumed him, snapped up by upheaval of his entire future being changed and everyone suddenly despising him for something he couldn't help (even after he supposedly saved them) hadn't been as gone as he thought.

He backed up, warily, his eyes wild.

"I'm not in the Wizarding World to screw up your campaign, if that's-"

"-Our campaign, actually," Tom interrupted, staring at him. Harry swallowed.

"I can't take credit," he began.

"-Oh, so all the notes and the convenient happenings weren't you? The mysterious 'renegade'?" Tom enquired, eyebrows raised. Harry's jaw clenched. "Nice name, by the way. Suits you."

"By the traitor definition or the rebel definition?" he asked, before he could stop himself. Any amusement vanished from the other's face.

"Rebel, obviously," Tom said. "Our oaths still hold, and you still have your magic, however much you've skulked in the gutters of muggle filth."

"The muggle filth are far more accommodating," Harry snapped. Tom drew in a sharp breath. There was a thick silence.

"Is that why you left me?" the other's voice was very soft. Harry's insides twisted.

"Having a werewolf on your political campaign won't get you anywhere," he said instead. "You'll have opposition before you've even revealed your first policy."

"Because we've never had opposition before," Tom replied sarcastically. He took a step forward, and Harry flinched back instinctually. Tom paused, studying him intently, before turning to the phials and tubs of wolfs bane around the room, running a finger across the glass. "I'm not going to kill you, Harry. I…this is something I've been working on, in my admittedly somewhat limited free time. It's, well, it's a cure for lycanthropy."

Harry froze, unable to tear his eyes away.

"W-what? You-?"

"I analysed the wolfsbane potion, and, as you no doubt know, the 'wolf-killer' is what, in miniscule amounts, temporarily subdues the wolf mentality when mixed with the right herbs…" Tom glanced at him, over his shoulder.

"So then I began thinking how I could make a temporary suppression permanent, in a physical manner, as well as the mental. Of course, other people had already thought of that, though they hadn't managed on curing the lycanthropic gene. I started wondering if there was another component…and there was, so obvious that most overlooked it. The catalyst. The moon. Most people, holding the view of Lycanthropy as a disease, studied it as a gene, seeking to eliminate the wolf aspect. They didn't view all the symptoms, and had not, I can safely say, explored the dark arts to the extent that I have. The moon has often been linked with satan in muggle culture, most often because the moon is also linked to magic."

Harry was vaguely aware that he was holding his breath.

"Of course, you can't magically counter the moon," Tom murmured. "Especially the power of the full moon, which has always been used for the greatest rituals…I found myself at a loss."

Harry found himself walking forward, entranced, unable to quite help himself. He'd almost forgotten how brilliant Tom was. Almost. Tom looked at him more openly, appraising him.

"Then I wondered at the opposite of werewolves…"

"Vampires," Harry murmured. "Who's curse revolves around the sun."

"Exactly," Tom's eyes glittered. "So, then, I wondered whether vampires were the cure to lycanthropy."

"Did you find it, the cure?" he asked.

Surely Tom would have publicised the cure if he had one?

"It's not perfected," Tom replied, deflating slightly. "I haven't got the combination of vampire blood and wolfsbane right…but…when I do…" the other trailed off.

Harry closed his eyes.

Then everything could be as it used to be. He could be human. The pure werewolves could have their humanity back. Except…it wouldn't really be the same.

"I'm not who I used to be, I already told you that, I-"

"I don't particularly care if you're a werewolf or not, I won't force it down your throat, just, I thought-"

"-Why didn't you come?" he questioned, abruptly. Tom came to a halt, stilling. Harry swallowed, looking away from those eyes. "Stupid question, I, sorry, look-"

"-I didn't think you would want to see me."

Harry froze, trembling slightly.

To have this conversation, now, after so long. All the answers had been spinning in his head for years, but never that one.

"I took a _werewolf bite _for you Tom," he said, very carefully controlling his voice. "You should have at least tried. And I did want to see you."

Tom rounded on him, glaring at him suddenly, hands fisted.

"_**Then why did you leave without saying goodbye?"**_

"I didn't think you wanted to see me," he replied, flatly. "No offence, but I could feel the hatred coming off you."

"The hatred-?" Tom blinked. "What…" the other stopped, pale. "That wasn't meant for you. How could you even think-"

"How could I even think that the man who famously scorns anything non wizard as inferior, who frequently made snarky comments about Remus, who lived by what benefited him the most, wouldn't despise a werewolf when said werewolf is immediately a liability to his campaign?" Harry finished. "Oh, I don't know, stupid assumption!"

"The fact I was hunting you down for three years didn't clue you in?" Tom sniped back. "I suppose you always did have extremely low self worth."

"It was only going to be a couple of weeks," Harry growled. "And then, well, things happened."

"Too many things for you to even pick up a pen and write to me?"

"Of course, I'm to blame for everything, the flawless Tom Riddle is never at any fault, right?" Harry returned icily. He spun, hiding his expression, refusing to give the bastard the satisfaction.

The silence stretched.

"Wrong," Tom said, quietly, so quietly, barely above a whisper. "I know, for example, that it was my fault you got bitten in the first place."

Harry turned at once more at that, incredulous.

"How the hell was it your fault? That's ridiculous."

"No more ridiculous than you thinking that, after everything, I would turn my back on you!"

The tension broke a fraction as Harry started to laugh, helplessly. This was messed up.

Had they really been at odds for three years because of a _misunderstanding? _Salazar, his life was tragic.

Tom's lips curled into a grin after a moment, and the other closed the gap between them, examining him, fingers skimming across his face and torso and hands, noting everything that changed, and all that stayed the same.

"If you ever leave me alone like that again I will remove your legs to deny you the second opportunity," the rising Dark Lord declared, flatly.

"Next time," Harry replied. "Bloody well stay with me then."

-_Stay-_

Zevi Prince gaped to see who walked into their ever-expanding headquarters.

Tom.

_Harry._

The he smiled.

* * *

A/N: So, that was far too long. Sorry. It evolved. I hope you enjoyed it.

This was the request: What if Harry was bitten by a werewolf? (probably Greyback would be best. I don't want Remus to be torn to smithereens!) What would Tom do? How would Harry cope? Sound like a good idea? 

Admittedly, my first thought was an immediate sceptical flash to Twilight. Then the ideas for this instantly started, haphazardly rolling in for the next seven or so hours before I could sit down to write, too many ideas, really, so apologies if the style came across stilted.

I hope you liked it, especially you Horselovinfan :)

PS: Fate's Favourite should be updated by the end of the week!

Then, after that, I might start my planned lent in which I vowed to give up fanfiction (either reading, writing, or both, I haven't decided)


	23. Dearest Dystopia

"_Time's up, Harry…come and play, or I'll come and find you, and kill anyone who stands in my way."_

Harry swallowed.

He didn't really give a damn about the rest of the school, but his friends would be the one to pay the price of interference. Time to start faking his death.

He let himself slump in the chains, not needing to pretend his nausea because it was there for real. Tom's eyes widened at the sight of him.

"You actually took a death vow. Swear on it, swear you did," the Slytherin Heir shook him harshly, knuckles pressing against his throat. Warm.

"I swear I made a death vow with Lord Voldemort ensuring my death."

Tom stared at him for a moment, dark gaze piercing, before the grip on his shirt slowly loosened, and the young Dark Lord sat back down on his chair, returning to his work.

Harry froze.

That was definitely not the reaction he was going for.

"So you're just going to watch me die?" he demanded, incredulously.

"You're dead or worse anyway if you go after Voldemort, I'd rather see if I can complete the time spell in time," Tom replied. "Besides, I don't trust you. Right now, you'd do and say anything to get what you want, I'd rather take my chances that you're over exaggerating the likelihood of your imminent demise, than ensure it by letting you go."

"Then I'm dead!" Harry said, not having to fake the hysteria in his voice, though it was more because his plan wasn't working.

"Be it so, I'd rather have you dead than have you as a vegetable. Of course, I could go and kill Voldemort myself, hence breaking the deal, but it's likely he'll come find us anyway, so, again, I'd rather get this spell finished."

"T-"

"Be quiet now, or I'll silence you."

He didn't doubt the other would, and, currently, words were the only weapons he had available to him. He couldn't afford to lose them entirely.

Quietness descended, and Harry tried desperately to think of a way out of this scenario. He'd thought Tom would let him go, with the possibility of his death, or at least leave the room and allow him to escape as he couldn't with Tom's careful awareness…his teeth clenched, pain flashing through his body again as his magic stirred.

This really was rather uncomfortable; it was probably meant to be. Pain and discomfort limited how much a person could concentrate, and he'd need to concentrate to escape.

He tugged at his wrists, wondering if he could somehow free the chains from the ceiling, so if he couldn't get out of them, he could take them with him.

He gave Tom another glance, fully aware that the Slytherin Heir would only ignore him so far as he wasn't an escape threat…or too distracted.

Would Tom silence him if he started screaming from using magic? Probably. Either that, or just stun him again.

Without Tom's cooperation or absence, there really wasn't much he could do about this situation.

He didn't know how much time passed, and he strained to hear of the battle outside the room of requirement, his headache peaking, his emotions haywire.

_Not such a hero in the end, are you, Harry? _came that icy voice. _On your head be it, and on your hands their blood. __**Ready or not, here I come…**_

Harry nearly snapped at that - people would be dying now, if he didn't get out. He tugged furiously at the chains, wondering if he could somehow explain the situation to Voldemort through the mind link. Tom spoke almost immediately as he'd thought it.

"I'll know if you try, and render you on unconscious."

"Tom, _please_-"

"I'm almost done." He didn't know if the other meant that to be reassuring or not. It really wasn't.

"Just-"

"_Silencio." _

Another five minutes or so passed, and then, and then the door to the room of requirement opened.

Zevi. Abraxas. Alphard. Lestrange (looking pathetic and broken, still, slumped, submissive.) Their eyes immediately took in the scene, and to their credit, their expressions remained expertly masked aside from slight flickers in their gazes.

Harry was surprised Alphard made no comment about the handcuffs.

Then he realised the significance of them being there, as Tom set down his notepad and pen, a pleased smile on his spell was complete.

Tom's plan was ready.

He thrashed, not caring how much it hurt anymore, his magic rising, and then, and then, the stunner hit him squarely in the chest.

* * *

Tom strode up to the Riddle House, knowing he needed somewhere private that he could set up base, and having some unfinished business here too.

He didn't bother knocking on the door, striding straight in, and up to a bed room (he'd checked it out the first time he'd visited Little Hangleton with Harry; he'd make interior design alterations soon enough) setting Harry down, knowing he wasn't likely to wake up just yet, but taking his wand and quickly warding the room for good measure.

Then he headed downstairs to where he could hear voices coming from the dining room.

Nerves struck him at the thought of facing his father, but he crushed them down.

This had been a long time coming.

They jumped up from their seats at the sight of his intrusion, and he immediately flicked a wand at them, placing the imperio upon them to force them calmly back into their seats. He then stuck them there, before releasing the Unforgiveable.

This would be no fun without the fear in his eyes, and he didn't have as much time to savour this moment as he would have once liked.

He wouldn't torture them for too long, and they'd be dead before Harry woke up. He wasn't stupid enough to confront the other immediately with the darkest aspects of his personality, especially when his friend was already liable to be in emotional upheaval at waking up in 1942 again, with his future obliterated.

He'd sent the rest of his Slytherins home.

He studied the Muggles before him dispassionately. The crux of his immediate attention was on the well dressed, man - his father.

They looked alike. They looked very much alike. He'd never despised his own appearance before, but, on seeing this man, he could see the allure in looking like a red-eyed snake man, because at least it cut all ties of remembrance and resemblance to this _pathetic _creature.

Next his gaze moved to a snooty, frightened looking blonde woman.

She was elegant, refined, old and he _loathed_ her. Was this his grandmother? He snorted.

His father still lived with his parents? What a weed. He supposed it was difficult to get a wife after having already ran off with another woman, and the "tramp's daughter" at that.

His grandfather was there too, taunting him further with the familial resemblance. His jaw clenched, and he ran his wand across the table in anticipation.

He would accommodate the house, and convince all the town that the Riddle's had moved away, leaving the house to him, the illegitimate son. They would talk, but he hardly cared. He had no use for socialising with the villagers, he only needed the manor for now.

"W-What are you doing here? Who are you?" the eldest man, his grandfather, demanded, eyeing his clothes. "Are you here to steal from us? I have a gun you know, for youths like you-"

"That wouldn't be very hospitable of you, grandfather," he replied.

Their expressions froze, his father's had frozen a long time since, staring at him in abject horror. He smiled, disarmingly.

"How rude of me, I haven't introduced myself…Tom Marvolo Riddle - Tom for my father, Marvolo for my mother's father, or so the orphanage told me."

His father gave a noise that was crossed between a croak and squeak. He clearly didn't gain much from him. Disgusting. The grandparents turned even paler.

"You-you're-"

"Your son."

The man had a horrible fixed expression on his face, looking pasty, as he tried for a smile.

"T-Tom, was it? It's so good to see you," he said tremulously. "I-I had no idea…what are you doing here?"

"Family reunion."

He twirled his wand, playfully.  
His father looked sick.

_Perfect. _

* * *

Harry's eyes slowly blinked into focus, and he reached blindly for his glasses, before freezing in horror.

This wasn't the Room of Requirement! A moment later, the room swam into focus, and he stiffened. Old style decorating.

Oh no.

He looked around frantically, reaching for his wand, only to be unable to find it. He could feel panic begin to swell in his chest, consuming him, and his eyes shot feverishly around the room, before stopping. He swallowed.

"Tom."

"Harry."

"I…your spell," he began, his throat closing up, making it hard to breathe. Had it worked? Tom seemed to gather his question despite his lack of eloquence, and lack of coherent sentences at all.

"It's summer 1942," the other told him quietly.

Harry's eyes shut for a moment, and he shuddered, drawing a deep breath. His heart was pounding. He couldn't believe Tom had done it. He'd never, perhaps arrogantly, expected Tom to pull this off and win.

"Put me back," he demanded, fiercely, raising his head from his hands. "PUT ME BACK!" he nearly screamed it, bounding off the bed, striding angrily towards the unflinching Slytherin Heir, his grip fisted around the other's shirt collar, about to shake but for the fingers that looped restrictedly around his wrists.

"Back where?" Tom questioned, very calmly. "The future you knew is gone, obliterated."

"It's not gone!" he hissed, desperately, unable to believe it. His world…gone…everyone he knew, never even existing. No. No! "It's-It's like with the whole thing of me coming backing in time the first time around, it was always supposed to happen, and now, if you just send me back-"

Tom's expression was unmoved, his eyes dark. Harry's mouth run dry. Tom had no intention of sending him back, he knew.

"Where's my wand - give it to me."

"You won't be needing it currently."

"_Give me my wand!" _

"Why? So you can try another killing curse? Your life is here now, accept that."

"Accept that?" Harry whispered, his grip tightening. "How the _hell _am I supposed to accept that everyone I care about-Sirius, the Weasleys, Hermione-" he choked.

He felt sick, his emotions and thoughts tumbling about together into an unintelligible mess. Would he never see them again? It seemed inconceivable, and that they never existed and never would? Not his versions…his breath starting to grow harsh and gasping.

"You did before," Tom pointed out, still infuriatingly composed. "You've had a life here in the past once, you can do so again." Harry's fists clenched, and he turned on the other again.

"Screw you," he spat. "Why are you so calm? _How_? I suppose this is nothing for you, you must be really bloody happy right now-"

"Despite what you may believe, I don't enjoy watching you like this," Tom snapped back irritably. "You should show some gratitude."

"Gratitude?" he nearly howled. "You've destroyed everything I ever knew - for what? WHAT IS WORTH THIS!"

"I thought _we_ might have been worth it; my mistake," Tom said coldly.

Harry deflated, his knees buckling from beneath him as he crumpled, leaning against the edge of the bed, in shock, tears prickling ridiculously in his eyes, rage bitter in his mouth.

Tom approached him, crouching before him, hands on his shoulders, relentless.

"I thought it might be worth you not ending up as a vegetable. I thought it might be worth me not ending up as Voldemort. Was I wrong?"

"Stop it-" Harry tried to back up, but the bed blocked his movements, as did Tom's hands.

"You don't have to be the Boy-Who-Lived, the saviour of the Wizarding world, you don't have to pretend anymore-"

"-_Tom_-"

"-I can give you everything you ever wanted-"

"-And if I want my friends?" Harry murmured, holding Tom's gaze. "If I want to go back, would you give me that?"

"You'll make new friends," the Slytherin Heir dismissed.

"Better ones? Ones you _approve _of?" he returned, rearing. "You just don't get it!"

"Not particularly no," Tom replied, an edge creeping its way into his tone. "I presume you're grieving or whatever."

Harry gave a strangled laugh.

"Grieving or whatever?" he repeated, incredulously, furiously. "You took _everything _from me Tom!"

"So you've said, although I'm personally attributing that statement to Gryffindorish melodrama, as I'm pretty sure you still have Zevi, Alphard and Abraxas…and me."

"I need air," Harry gasped.

He pushed his way blindly out of the room, and was at the stairs of an…oddly familiar landing, when he felt like he'd run smack bang into some invisible wall.

He placed his hand out cautiously, trying to take a step to go down into the lower areas of the house, only to be once more prevented.

A sense of disbelief fell on him, and he felt Tom come up behind him again, though he didn't turn.

Wards. Tom had _warded_ the house.

"What am I, your prisoner?" he questioned flatly.

"Taking the definition of prisoner as being someone who is being held against their will, I suppose you are," the other stated. "Sorry, darling, but considering how erratic your mood is right now, I don't trust to release you to face the big bad world just yet."

"What, in case I find help in getting back to my own time?"

"Essentially, yes," Tom replied bluntly. Harry's teeth gritted, and he slammed his fist against the barrier, only for it to repel him back slightly.

Tom was _serious_. He wasn't going to let him out, he wasn't going to...

"Let me go!" he growled, his rage swelling again.

"Never," Tom returned promptly.

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"You're just going to keep me in here?" the panic was growing once more.

"Until I can trust you not to do something stupid."

"Trying to save my whole world is stupid?" his voice, pathetically, cracked.

Tom was silent. Harry tugged fingers through his hair, frustrated. He couldn't think.

It was…they couldn't be gone.

Hadn't he lost enough people? _Hadn't he?_

He looked at Tom, helplessly, not even sure why as the young Dark Lord was the reason he was feeling like this anyway. Sure, his soul was beginning to stabilise and oh…his soul. The Horcrux. He was in pieces, literally.

"I hate you," he whispered. "I hate you so much."

"I can deal with that, if it's what you need right now."

Harry nearly choked on another laugh.

"_Don't,"_ he pleaded, warned, he didn't know. "Don't be so - nice!"

Tom approached him once more, slowly, as if fearing he would spook, sitting down on the top of the stairs with him, studying him.

"Normally you tell me off for 'being a bastard."

Harry could hear the question in the other's voice, but didn't respond immediately.

Tom waited, with a shocking amount of patience, apparently willing to humour him while he wasn't trying to leave.

Harry had no doubt Tom would try and make him happy, and give him everything he'd ever wanted, but right now…all he wanted was what the Slytherin Heir had stolen from him.

He wanted his life back. He wanted Tom to be horrible so he could scream at him, and shove him and hurt him and push some of his own agony away.

He didn't want to be able to explicitly understand why Tom had done this, and how from Tom's perspective their was truly nothing wrong with his actions.

He dropped his head into his hands again, hiding his expression, the burning, pitiful wetness that formed incessantly in his eyes.

He didn't want to cry in front of Tom, not again, not when the other was liable to only mock him for it - even if he didn't necessarily do it outside of his own head, Harry knew he would scorn such a display of weakness.

Tom didn't understand his grief, how could he? Tom had never lost anyone he cared about, indeed, from a Tom point of view this was a safety against such tormenting grief. He was so confused.

After a moment fingers, uncharacteristically hesitant, threaded into his hair, another arm pulling him closer, holding him. He shuddered again, trying to not let those awful sobs wrack his body, lest he break down completely.

"Leave me alone," he ordered faintly. "Tom-"

"Not doing that either," the young Dark Lord replied, infuriatingly. "You're a mess."

"Was that supposed to be comforting?" he murmured. Tom stiffened slightly, but then Harry clung back, desperately, and the rigid posture softened again.

What else did he have left?

* * *

Tom could feel the other shaking, violently, and feel the emotions rolling in through the connection - even stronger now due to the Horcrux.

Anger.

Despair.

Horror.

Exhaustion.

Loss.

Grief.

Guilt.

Shock.

Numbness.

Harry probably thought he didn't know what it was like, and, in a way, he didn't. But he thought he knew now, the other's emotions were so vivid that he could almost feel them himself.

Almost.

He'd never felt a speck of guilt in his life, and grief only second hand after the death of the Weasley Patriarch. He wouldn't start now.

He wasn't sorry.

If he got to keep Harry, then it was worth it, even if the other disagreed. If this was anyone else, he probably would have turned away in disgust at this display of weakness and emotion, but it wasn't anyone else.

This was Harry.

He'd known the other would react badly, of course he had, the boy had always made his opinion on this matter crystal clear. He'd get over it though…and he'd fix the Horcrux things soon enough.

Maybe that was why he didn't mind Harry practically breaking on him now, where with all else he would backtrack with revulsion, he knew he'd fix it.

It was interesting, even, to see Harry break with the knowledge that it would be temporary. He'd always loved people's breaking points, they were fascinating, revealing the very truths of a person. But in this case, it would only be interesting so long as he could fix it, and he could.

Harry had accepted a life in the past before, and despite popular opinion, he would not be putting the other through this if he didn't sincerely believe that his friend could manage it and survive.

Harry was strong. Even now, with his whole world tossed upside down, he'd railed against the situation and _fought_, instead of taking the easy way out and justifying it all to himself. Though he would never agree with Harry's strong sense of morality and empathy, he did admire them for their power, as much as he cursed them for how limiting they were.

"It will be okay," he murmured, ensuring everything about him was fiercely soothing to the other, and knowing well by now what Harry needed.

It wasn't a paltry consolation, he meant it, they would okay. They always were.

"No, it won't," Harry near hissed. He hid a smirk.

Stubborn, always so stubborn - even now.

The rest of the world could wait for one night.

They stayed on the stairs until morning.

* * *

A/N: Wow, after your amazing response to FF, it feels hard writing these two again, cause I feel like I can never compare. I had so many ideas for this, I hope it turned out okay :) This was supposed to be the immediate aftermath of what would happen if Tom's plan succeeded.

Next up on DD is "Ugliest Utopia" which would be the immediate aftermath of Harry's plan succeeding.  
My fondness for alliteration doesn't abate :P

PS: I'm thrilled you all loved 'stay' so much, and if you're in doubt, yes, I do still take requests if you still want to give them :)


	24. Ugliest Utopia

Denial

"NO!" Tom hissed desperately, sprinting over to the two fallen figures on the floor. He dropped onto his knees next to Harry, whose eyes were only half open, slightly glazed. "Harry - _**Harry!"**_

"Tom," the other murmured.

He nearly snarled, his grip harsh and unforgiving as he struggled to lever the Boy-Who-Lived into a more dignified position than sprawled across the sodden grass. Green eyes fluttered.

"What have you done?" he growled, furious. Harry merely offered him a small, sad smile which he wanted to smash off the other's lips.

"Plan."

He tightened his grip on Harry's hair, nearly wrenching raven locks out, rocking slightly, frantically searching for a way to reverse the disintegrating of his friend's mind, not willing to let it end like this.

He'd been knocked out far too long, if he'd got here even a minute earlier-! He couldn't stop or reverse the process, Harry's wand was slack in his hands, and enough remorse was pouring into Voldemort already that cutting the link off entirely did nothing anymore.

Harry could do wandless magic anyway, with a bit more effort. He silently cursed. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be!

"You idiot," he stated coldly. "Your mind's shredding itself to pieces."

"I know," Harry replied. "Hurts."

His jaw tightened at the comment. Normally Harry would have slipped a jab or witty comment in by now. His language was degenerating already, as shown by his largely monosyllabic answers…by the end, he wouldn't be able to speak at all.

He'd be…what, how did one year old's even speak? Did they speak?

His teeth bared angrily, more feral than human and he didn't care.

"Guess I won then," Harry continued.

There was no victory in his voice, and it appeared even these words were starting to take a monumental effort to say. Harry - whose words and retorts normally flowed so quickly and easily, clashing and merging with his own lexis. Now, that was being torn away too. Stolen.

He loathed it.

"Does it feel like winning?" he asked, glaring.

"No," Harry whispered, eyes closing for a few seconds. "Tom-"

"Don't you _dare_ say goodbye," he warned, clutching. "This isn't goodbye."

"When else say?"

Tom gritted his teeth further at the increasingly disjointed response, and Harry frowned, visibly scared, obviously able to feel his coherency slipping away.

He knew what Harry was asking though; when else am I supposed to say it? If his language was going, now was the only time really. But he refused to accept that.

"Why the hell did you have to play the hero?" he hissed, furiously.

"Me."

_He couldn't do this. _

He wanted to scream, curse, rage, but he couldn't listen and watch Harry disappearing down the cracks. He supposed 'me' was meant to be 'because that's what I do,' or some such crap, but he couldn't be sure.

What if Harry was actually trying to say something far more important? He wouldn't know! A slight wince issued from the younger boy, but he ignored that too.

Harry winced, his Harry, when he was in pain.

Oh bloody hell. Why hadn't he woken up sooner? Why did Harry have to be such a stubborn moron? He hated his friend, he really did. Right now, he loathed him sincerely.

Harry's eyes were fluttering open and closed now, his grip starting to grow even more slack, and Tom automatically shifted his own hold to keep the other upright.

"Tom."

"Harry."

"S'ry."

"You never apologise. Don't start now," he snapped.

"Tom," Harry said again.

"Harry?"

"T'm."

"Still here, what is it?"

"T'm."He looked sharply at the other's face, his blood running to ice.

"You already said that," he reminded quietly, fists clenched on Harry's shirt.

"T'm."

He swallowed down bitter bile. Right. Down to one word it was then. Shit.

"**Please don't leave me,"** he hissed, pleaded. He'd said it, lowered his pride to beg, surely Harry would come back now? Grin and mock him for the concession?

But, this time, there was no response at all.

Harry merely looked at him, brow slightly furrowed, eyes largely vacant. Unseeing.

He stared in silence, utterly numb. He probably should have been feeling more, but he just held on. Why couldn't Harry be more selfish? Than this wouldn't have happened.

Damn it. This wasn't over. It wasn't. It couldn't possibly be goodbye. Too much had happened for it to end like this.

"Harry?" he questioned, very softly, shaking slightly. "Evans. Potter. _Answer me_!"

Harry just continued to look at him, not saying anything, not reacting, not gripping, just…there. His insides twisted. He didn't understand it. He felt like he'd been doused in ice.

"Harry?" he asked again, voice barely above a whisper now.

"He won't answer you, his mind is shattered," came a voice, across from him. Voldemort. He didn't bother looking up, knowing full well that he'd see a replica of himself. Just as Harry planned. All that was needed to fully complete Harry's plan was for him, or anyone, to obliviate and cast the time spell on his counterpart.

"Come to gloat?" he questioned, not entirely sure he recognised his own voice. There was no emotion there, faked or otherwise. He just felt…empty.

"You should have taken my offer while you had the chance," Voldemort stated, and that did have fury beginning to bubble in his stomach. The other continued before he could speak. "I didn't want this to happen anymore than you did."

Right, he was sure.

"You hate him."

"So do you, Tom. Everyday and never, or something, wasn't it?"

He absently played with the strands of Harry's hair, noting that his Harry would have protested or moved by now, or, reacted. Somehow.

"Fix him," he ordered.

"Tom-" Voldemort began.

"**I'll do anything you ask**. **Just…make him better. Fix him. **_**Please.**_**"**

"The damage is irreparable."

"You're lying."

"You know I'm not. You knew the second you saw him. Harrison Evans is gone."

"_Shut up. _You know _nothing -_ nothing!_"_

"Don't act like a child, it doesn't suit you….and let go of him. You look ridiculous."

"I could travel back in time, an hour, stop him."

"It's over, child!" Voldemort sounded angry for the first time, livid, striding towards him. "You can't meddle with time anymore, the whole timeline would splinter and you know it - that's why you're still cradling him so pathetically as if someone's killed your puppy instead of doing something."

He felt sick, shaky, he didn't know why. After a moment, he disentangled his grip, setting Harry on the ground, rising and drawing his wand, turning to face the Dark Lord with his full attention.

"So, what happens now?" he changed the topic abruptly.

Voldemort was no help. And if he didn't want the whole world to go up in smoke, and lose all of Harry, memories of him and all, that meant he had to deal with the other and send him back. Complete the plan. Harry's stupid, idiotic, worthless plan.

"Give me the time spell," Voldemort instructed.

"You don't need it. Lower your wand, and I'll obliviate you and perform it myself," he replied.

"Sentiment has dulled your brain if you ever think I will willingly trap myself in a time loop."

"Unwilling it is then," he murmured, indifferently. And the next second, they were duelling.

* * *

Anger

Zevi had watched, along with everyone else, as Tom and Voldemort duelled, trading spells and obliviates so fast and viciously that the colours were a blur in the sky.

Tom won.

Voldemort was sent off with the dopplegangers and Lestrange to the past, under Tom and Granger's wand. They stayed.

All through, his lord possessed an eerie sort of calmness to his character, tone clipped, utterly analytical, with eyes like chips of ice.

It was only once the timeline was settled some hour later that the calm started to chip away.

Now, as everyone stood around Harry, in the Hospital wing, discussing their friend's fate while he just sort of lay there with a curious expression on his face, unspeaking, not really paying anyone attention, looking vaguely like he might at some point start crying, Tom exploded.

Without a visible change of expression, the hospital wing around them, the chairs and tables and anything not strapped down started to shake, violently. Glasses smashed and the lights flickered and the air suddenly seemed freezing, everything around Tom seeming to grow into a vacuum of dark.

Dumbledore had just entered.

"Did you know?" their lord demanded. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"I had my suspicions as to his methods," the old man replied, eliciting a snarl from Tom.

He'd never seen their composed leader so wild, all restraint snapped, so animalistic and primal with masks pushed aside as worthless. He shivered, edging backwards, sincerely praying that he wouldn't attract attention, head bowed in mourning.

Harry.

Why did it have to be Harry? - He was the best out of all of them. Tom wouldn't be like this if Harry was there to stop him and calm him and match him blow for blow.

Their lord stalked forward, wand in hand, more predatory than anything he'd ever seen before, murder in his eyes. The Headmaster's wand was out too now, though neither had cast yet.

"As for why I didn't stop him…why didn't you, Tom?" Dumbledore questioned harshly. "He didn't do this for me, you know, but for you."

Tom's face twisted with rage and hatred.

"_Cru-"_

"I told you that you always break your toys," the man continued cruelly.

Tom's eyes flashed, burning crimson - a physical manifestation of Dark magic that made several of the room's occupants rear away in horror and remembrance of the Dark Lord they had just banished.

"Is that why you let him do it?" Tom questioned, a deadly fury, quiet. "You figured I'd break him anyway so you might as well let him fulfil his _purpose _before it happened?"

"Your record speaks for itself - you destroy everything you touch. I dare say he'll be happier now," Dumbledore dismissed, turning towards the hospital bed, to the stricken features of Sirius and Remus. "We will have him de-aged, he can have the childhood Fate tore away from him so unkindly-"

"-Fate?" Tom laughed, mirthlessly. "It wasn't Fate who did stole that from him, it was you…but then, I suppose you'd like to think of yourself as Fate with your overwhelming God-complex!"

Dumbledore didn't turn.

"I did what was necessary for the survival of our kind," was all he replied.

"You do what is necessary for the survival of the light!" Tom spat. "You hypocrite, perhaps I do destroy everything I get close to you, but you…_you _supposedly don't, so its unforgivable that you should therefore _choose_ to destroy him. I suppose it galled you too much to see that he could have been happier outside of your influence than under your thumb!"

Dumbledore merely cast the deaging spell, ignoring Tom's hiss of rage.

Zevi strongly suspected the only reason their lord hadn't cursed or attempted murder was because if the Headmaster dodged any spell he cast would hit Harry - who was shrinking, and twisted, face crumpled in a very baby-like manner.

Only staring at the child for a moment once it was done, frozen, Tom had promptly strode out of the door.

The sounds of explosions and shattering glass and pain followed him.

Tom spun, violently, around the room of requirement, destroying everything he could touch, shoulders and posture rigid.

His curses were hissed through gritted teeth, or not spoken at all, screamed, snarled, growled, as his magic lashed out, whip-like, at everything in the vicinity.

He was furious, utterly furious.

Furious with Zevi for stunning him, furious with Granger and Weasley for impeding him and allowing Harry to catch up, livid with Voldemort and Dumbledore alike.

No synonym for anger compared to his wrath against Harry - the stupid bastard. He hated Harry. So, so much, for doing this, for making him feel like this, for leaving him alone.

It wasn't fair! He'd given everything to do this, only for Harry to thwart his plans at the last turn. He shot out a particularly nasty spell, revelling in the darkness pouring through his blood and soul.

It matched his soul.

What did it matter how dark he was now, or how heinous his actions became? His best friend was no longer there to stop him, and if he objected, he could bloody well pull his mind together again and come back, couldn't he?

His breath was gasping, harsh, but he kept moving, daring not to stop, not wanting to. He just wanted to run, run and run and run and never look back.

He hated this world. He hated this time. He hated Harry for doing this and for thinking that this plan was the best choice of action.

Harry being gone would never be the best.

He hated himself for allowing it to happen, for not having done more to prevent it, for not having the spell done in time. He should have knocked Harry out while he had the chance, just let Voldemort come the first time.

Most of all, he hated the de-aged child in the hospital wing he had just left.  
His fury raged and boiled at the thought.

It wasn't Harry, not _his _Harry.

It was some stupid child the same as everyone else now, a reminder of everything he had lost. He knew the old man had done it on purpose, not able to abide seeing him happy for once in his life.

He didn't know how many times he destroyed the room, how many times Hogwarts repaired it, consumed by rage and bitterness.

Why did Harry have to do this? What right did his soul have to leave him alone? Everyone always left. He should have known Harry would have done the same, for the noblest, most painful of reasons.

Exhausted, he dropped to the floor, lying amidst chaos, unable to bring himself to care, his body and mind aching from extensive magic use.

There was a thrumming somewhere inside him, deep, almost comforting, reassuring, as if some part of him desperately sought to offer him solace.

How ridiculous.

A sense of betrayal curdled his blood. His eyes felt hot, his vision blurry through a sheen of humiliating tears.

The only person he had left to rely on was himself.

He'd never felt so alone.

* * *

Depression and Bargaining

Abraxas was greatly disturbed to see the change that had come over Tom in the next five years, though they weren't really supposed to call him that now they were out of school.

Nowadays, out of the eyes of the public, it was always 'my lord.'

Tom had searched feverishly for anything to cure Harry's mind, barely resting, only stopping doing that for the furthering of the plans - from what Abraxas had gathered - that Tom and Harry had started together.

He travelled to find all sorts of healers, ransacked every book on the topic and probably could have sat down and passed any specialist medical exam on the subject with ease, but he'd found nothing to reverse the topic.

The first year or so had been terrifying, Tom had been utterly dead, completely withdrawn. He'd disappeared for about three months and turned up in the hospital wing in critical condition - to this day no one knew what had happened in that time.

Meanwhile, Harry had been growing up under Black and Lupin's, and to a lesser extent, the Weasley's, care, and was often visited by his old friends.

Granger became like an aunt to the young boy, now six, and he and the Slytherins went as frequently as they could to see the child.

Tom never did.

Initially, he'd tried telling Tom about Harry, what he was like now, but their lord had (after the first few times) told them in frank, brutal terms that he would sew their mouths shut if they ever breached the topic again.

He didn't want to know.

Tom Riddle's interest lay solely in Harrison Evans, and it was no stretch of the imagination to state that this new Harry Potter was nowhere near the boy Tom had known.

The child was innocent, happy, endearing enough and enthusiastic.

But he wasn't Harrison Evans.

He was too naïve, too…well, it was horrible to say, but Harry's eyes had always been shadowed by suffering in life, experience.

His eyes had been like Tom's. Now, they were just like that of any other child.

Harry Potter would have been any other child, and maybe that was why Tom refused to see him. It reminded him too much of everything he'd lost. It was a taunt to their leader, to have what he wanted so close, but never quite right.

This Harry wasn't Tom' Harry, and Tom hated it.

Abraxas hated it too.

Sure, Harry was grey from his equal associations with the light and dark equally (Dumbledore had tried, early on, to limit their interaction with the boy so only light remained, and that had been the only time Tom had even acknowledged that Harry was even alive to put a sharp stop to the old man's campaign) but he wasn't _their _Harry.

He viewed the child and Harry Evans as different people, and could admit without shame that a strong reason for affection with this - predominantly, Gryffindor, from the little he could see in the six year old - stemmed from remnant feeling and loyalty to their Harry.

Granger and Weasley mourned their best friend too, but had a much easier time accepting his new form and growing personality, delighting in the child's happiness.

They said it was what was best for Harry.

But he'd always cared more what was best for Tom.

"Tom, you need to stop doing this," Harry stated, very quietly.

Tom opened his eyes to the dream - for, he knew it was just a dream, but he couldn't bring himself to care - to see Harry sitting opposite him.

It was a phantom Harry, a shard of the real thing which he himself had once embedding upon his own soul. Harry's Horcrux.

The only fraction of his Harry that was left to him, with all of his Harry's memories, for the soul contained the impressions and character that had been buried in the original.

He hated the small boy so much, the little child he'd caught glimpses of once or twice, before quickly turning away because he couldn't bear it.

"Giving me orders now, are you?" he returned, surveying the other hungrily, memorising everything all over again. Every night.

He visited the depths of his soul every night, to search out this link, this ghost, this shadow.

Harry had once literally been a shadow, much like Marvolo, with eyes as red as blood in manifestation of the Dark magic he was formed from.

Tom had soon solved that; feeding his own essence and thoughts into the shard to let it gain power. Not much, not enough to bring him to life - and, there wasn't even enough there for that anyway, but enough to present the other with the form he knew.

He forcibly turned red eyes into green, shadow to an imitation of flesh. It was a futile thing, really, because he knew Harry would never be there once he left this soul space in his mind and confronted reality again, but he didn't care.

Harry sighed, heavily.

"This is unhealthy Tom, you shouldn't spend so much time here. You need to actually rest."

"No, I don't. I found the Aevitas ritual I was telling you about, by the way."

"Forever young as well as immortal now. I admit it would have been disturbing if you grew old and decrepit in your eternal life."

"My thoughts exactly," he replied, smirking. Harry didn't smirk back, studying him.

"You look exhausted."

"Don't be a nag, hero, I'm fi-"

"I spent my whole life telling people I was 'fine' Tom, I can tell when it's not true. You should be sleeping instead of visiting nowhere in all hours of the night…I presume it's night, unless you're starting to visit in the day again?"

In the first year since Harry's deaging and the events around that, after he became aware of the soul-scape in his head and remembered that Harry's Horcrux was tucked safely away in the recesses of it, the visits had started.

He'd stayed there for weeks on end, not eating, not sleeping. Eventually he'd been hospitalised when Harry had got fed up and, taking advantage of the weak state brought on by said lack of food and sleep, possessed him and marched him straight up to hospital wing, saving his life, apparently, but Tom didn't believe that.

Harry, such a small shard of soul, had been exhausted and reverting back into a uncommunicative shadow for months, refusing to accept anything Tom offered to help him heal until he was in full health himself.

It had driven him insane to lose the other again.

Since then, he'd pulled himself together and bound himself to visiting only at night, because if he faltered in health than so did Harry. Still.

He stalked towards the Horcrux shard, seizing hold of the other's slightly intangible shoulders. Harry jolted slightly, as he did every time.

It had taken Tom a long time to figure out why Harry's reaction to his touch had increased so dramatically; it was sense deprivation.

Being a Horcrux, Harry didn't actually have his own body, and, thus, no senses. The touch-starvation specifically was less now, but he gathered Harry still felt any contact with him pretty intensely as it was the only thing he apparently _could _feel.

"I told you," he murmured, settling down in his customary seat next to Harry, "I'll stop visiting when you no longer want me to."

For the reasons he'd just detailed, he knew that was impossible for Harry to ever demand, however altruistic he was. No one would ever choose 'the nothingness' (as Harry called it) for themselves, and Tom was the only would who could keep the darkness away.

Harry 'slept' when he wasn't there. He literally sustained Harry's world and existence with his presence, so when he wasn't there, there was nothing.

Harry would never turn him away, and they both knew it, because without him his friend was scarcely alive and utterly alone.

Harry leaned into him, and he shifted his arm around the other's torso in turn.

"You need to find someone real to talk to," his friend murmured.

"Real people don't compare."

"And now you really do sound crazy," Harry said dryly, sadly, watching him.

"Then I'll remain happily insane," he said, with a slight warning in his tone.

Harry was silent for a moment, green eyes heavy with their appraisal, before giving up on the topic, probably knowing full well that he wouldn't actually ever talk so openly with anyone outside of his mind, and that if he didn't talk to Harry, he would simply be silent about any troubles or worries he had.

"How's life then?"

* * *

Acceptance

For as long as Harry Potter could remember, he'd had the memories, the flashes.

The first one, when he was four, had been of a dark haired boy who look liked him duelling with a snake faced man, who he later learnt was the defeated Dark Lord Voldemort.

It went backwards through there, tracing memories backwards of a plot he could scarcely wrap his head around. Of him, and Tom Riddle, who was the current undersecretary to the minister, dabbled in numerous different professions, and was rising rapidly up the politics ladder along with his party.

As a kid, he'd been too young to understand, but had also soon learnt not to mention the flashes when it was clear that they weren't normal.

He was fifteen now, and had backtracked to eleven in the memories, for he had this suspicion that was what they were - though it had taken ages and a ton of secrecy to work out.

So, technically, he was fifteen with another five years worth of memories in his head of…well, it seemed utterly corny and pathetic to say another him in another life, but that was kinda what he thought it was.

He'd had that confirmed just now, and walked through the streets in a dazed despair and confusion.

Sirius, Remus, and Uncle Zev had explained about his previous life, of how he'd once been Harry Potter-Evans, the Boy-Who-Lived and numerous other titles.

He'd once been best friends with Tom Riddle.

Harry thought that was a bit rich, and had long since decided to stay away from the formidable figure, having seen in the memories how he could be, and feeling hurt and bitter besides.

Oh, he knew why the other stayed away, with what he was coming to call 'other Harry intuition,' it was because Riddle hated him for taking his best friend away, for not being Harrison Evans.

He just generally wasn't good enough or worth the notice of the 'Slytherin Heir.'

It really was a very complicated story, and Sirius and everyone had only been able to give him a brief, outsider's perspective as the only person who could actually tell him the full story was Riddle, who, as mentioned, avoided him like the plague and hated his not-the-right-Harry guts.

Urgh. Whatever.

He didn't want to meet the bastard anyway, he was just…vaguely curious.

The boy in the flashes had seemed so different to the charming but remote politician whose face stared mockingly at him from the Daily Prophet every so often.

He swallowed. His mind was buzzing, everything he'd suspected confirmed only half an hour ago, so absorbed in his thoughts that he almost didn't realise until it was too late the masked figures that had began to surround him.

White masks, like bone, Death Eaters - though they weren't actual legitimate Death Eaters, those had all fallen with the Dark Lord apparently, but there was a rebel group who called themselves such, claiming they were continuing 'Voldemort's legacy.'

He drew his wand quickly, frantically looking around himself, feeling a sense of horror as he realised he'd walked from Diagon, where he was meeting his friends, into Knockturn Alley in his disorientated thoughts.

Crap.

He could feel himself panic, uncomfortably aware that the-other-Harry would never have allowed himself into this situation, and that he would be much better equipped with it too.

Sure, he had other-Harry's _memories _(partially) but that didn't mean he had the practised skill or anything like that…though he still had the same wand, which was apparently remarkable as his personality had changed so much.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here," the one at the front leered to him. "Hello Evans."

The two on the sides guffawed and giggled.

"Aw, come now, don't be mean, boy-wonder probably doesn't have a clue who we are, he's like a de-clawed kitten now!"

"Oh how the mighty have fallen."

He repeated: crap.

"I know," he replied, falling back on whatever he could possibly remember of Harrison Evans, because he knew _he _didn't stand a chance here. He suddenly wished he'd been forced to study more as a child, rather than indulged with endless play, pranks and games of Quidditch, with only vague expectations to get good grades rather than enforcement. "Though I must admit I only agree with the second half, it's rather presumptuous to call yourselves 'mighty.'"

They stared at him for a moment, wands pointed furiously in his direction.

"I guess some things never change, you know some should deal with that tongue of yours. We'd be more than happy to do it."

He told them to 'f' off in response, eloquence and witty responses be damned.

It was what Sirius would do, and clearly he wasn't good enough to try and be Harrison Evans anyway. And that was fine. He was his own person, and he didn't want to live in the shadow of the past and the ghost of the boy he should have been.

He'd always felt a slight something in how people viewed him, an expectation, and now he knew for sure what it was.

They were looking for Harry Potter Evans, no one really saw just Harry.

They began to duel, and he was quickly forced on the defensive, unpractised in the art of fighting. He'd never liked duelling. As a child, he'd never got into it, it had never felt right.

Was he doomed to be haunted by half impressions of things he could never have? Suspended between the person he was now and the person he once was?

He swallowed bile.

They pressed forward, relentless, and he cursed himself for getting in this situation - and today was just his day, wasn't it?

First people decided to detail him the story of his overwhelming past life and now he was getting attacked!

While this seemed to be a regular occurrence for other-Harry according to the flashes, it wasn't for him.

He ducked, hurrying to shield, fully aware that he'd now fully adopted the duelling style of Harrison Evans because he didn't have his own, and only managing to fulfil it clumsily because he hadn't undergone the same intensive training routine everyday.

It was like the flashes of when he'd first started training, he was ungraceful and stumbled around, getting hit far too often. Except he didn't have golems he could switch off when he was too out of his depth, he was probably going to get killed!

He flinched as a curse grazed through his hasty shield - it was five on one! - with green light soaring at him as they grew increasingly frustrated with his inability to die.

And - and the next second they had dropped to the floor, screaming.

Harry's head shot up, to see Abraxas and Zevi, and-oh god. He stared into violet eyes, filled with a cold fury, fixed on his face.

Tom Riddle.

He bit his lip, backing up a step, glancing quickly at Zevi and 'Brax, who were promptly dealing with the 'Death Eaters,' not paying any attention to the two of them.

He wondered, automatically, if they'd just relegated him into the Harrison Evans persona again. They always did nowadays, when they weren't paying attention.

He knew he looked exactly like the other-Harry, how could he not?

"Um…"

Riddle seemed to snap out of it, grabbing hold of his arm in a vicious grip, the twenty-five year old hauling him bodily out the dark, forgotten alleys of Knockturn in the direction of Diagon Alley.

He immediately tried to pull away, unnerved, not wanting to be this close the other, not when he had all those memories and this was bloody weird.

Riddle ignored his attempt, weaving him through the crowd - and he was stunned no one noticed then, a disillusionment charm? - until he was firmly out of the more dubious corners of Wizarding Britain.

"I-I can find my own way now," he said, loudly, when Riddle seemed about to continue towing him. "Thank you."

The politician's attention snapped to him.

"You're an idiot, golden boy. What the _hell _were you thinking?"

Harry blinked. Riddle froze, and his grip retracted like lightning.

"I apologise," the Slytherin Heir continued stiffly. "You shouldn't be in Knocturn Alley, it's not a safe place for minors. Do you know where your Guardians are? I'll apparate you to them. I'm-"

"Tom Riddle," Harry filled in quietly. "I know who you are."

He could feel the vague sense of abandonment swelling inside him again, and ignored it as ridiculous because he knew the reasons why his supposed best friend never even bothered to acknowledge his existence before. "And the apparation won't be necessary, though it's kind of you to offer, sir. I'm sorry for any inconvenience. I'll find my own way from here."

The elder man stared at him, with that intense gaze he "remembered" so well. He almost shivered, unused to anyone watching him with such unnerving attention.

Violet eyes traced across him.

"You're injured."

Harry's eyes shot down, and he gasped, rearing back when the famous politician stepped closer to him, examining the wound along his side where a spell had nicked him.

"It's fine."

Riddle's eyes flicked up at that, unreadable, and it took Harry a moment to remember that 'fine' was a very 'Evans' response. He winced. That had to sting.

"I'm sorry," he continued quickly. "I appreciate your help, but you don't have to torment yourself further with my presence. I know you hate me."

"Hate you-?" the other began.

"Because I'm not him," Harry clarified, the words rushing out while he had the chance. He'd never had the chance to tell anyone! "I took your best friend away from you, they told me, and sometimes I remember things and-"

"-You _remember_?" Riddle repeated.

Harry nearly groaned. He hadn't meant to say that. Other-Harry wouldn't have let it slip.

"Some," he mumbled. "Look, it's fine. I get it. In your place I'd hate me too, you don't need to pretend to care or feel obligated or anything, there's nothing between us and you can just go on ignoring my existence-OUCH!"

Riddle had flicked a silent, non verbal healing charm at his side, causing the skin to heal and the blood to rush back into the cut with a sharp sting, like vinegar poured on a cut. He glared.

Riddle didn't wait for a response, moving behind him in a far too fast manner, arm looping tightly around his torso to hold him in place when he tried to follow the movement.

And bloody hell, he knew Tom Riddle and Harrison Evans were kinda tactile, but he wasn't! Moreover, he wasn't used to getting manoeuvred around by a crazy psychopath who may or may not have hated him for unintentionally destroying his best friend….oh joy.

This was somehow more terrifying than getting attacked by Death Eaters.

This really wasn't his day. He wasn't ready for this - why did he have to say he remembered anything? Now Riddle would get his hopes up or expect something and Harry wouldn't be able to live up the over glorified image of the great Harrison Evans and it would all go terribly wrong.

Before he could actually comment on any of this, he was spun on the spot, and they apparated.

He stared around himself in absolute shock, nauseous, - where was he?

"Uh, thanks for healing me and everything but I'd like to go and find Sirius and Re-" he began hastily, trying not to sound pathetic, only for Riddle to push him in front of him and down the corridor "Er-crap, you know, it's not actually, um, legal for you to do this-wait, you wouldn't care, shit-think about your ministerial reputation and political campaign! You'd be screwed if-"

"-You cuss too much. The mutt's influence, I would assume?"

Harry yanked himself back, livid, tired, confused.

"Sirius is not a mutt!" he spat. "And I'm not Evans, you can't just drag me around like this! You've ignored me for the last fifteen years of my life, you don't get to walk in now like it's normal! It's not fair, and you can leave me sodding well alone because I can't be him and I don't want to pretend to be something I'm not - sorry! - and what's more-"

Harry stuttered to an abrupt halt when the other's magic flared menacingly.

He gulped, taking another step back, before getting a grip of himself because he was supposed to be a Gryffindor, brave.

"I know perfectly well you're not him," Riddle sneered.

"Yeah, well, why did you call me 'Golden boy' then? I suppose it's better than 'darling' but seriously, you only called _him _by all those nicknames!"

"Momentary physical resemblance," The Slytherin replied coldly. "Believe me, the differences once you open your mouth are more than evident."

"Then why am I here?"

"So I can remove your memories in peace."

Harry's eyes widened, and he staggered back more.

"Hell no! Other-Harry wouldn't want you to.

"Riddle simply looked at him, and Harry paused, suddenly feeling like he should hit himself over the head.

"That was joke, wasn't it?" he verified, hesitantly, knowing other-Harry would never have had to.

He needed to stop comparing himself to Harrison Evans. It wasn't healthy.

"I repeat," Riddle drawled, "I can tell perfectly well you're not him. He can actually keep up with me."

"Can?" Harry snatched on the word, his tone softening, his brow furrowed. Riddle's eyes sparked dangerously.

"Could. I said could."

"You said can."

"Could."

"Can."

"I'm not getting into an argument with you like a five year old, whatever your mental age might be!" Riddle snapped. "And for your information, this is where I work. I'm not kidnapping you, you foolish child."

"I'm fifteen, not a child. I'm the same age as you and he were."

"Really?" Riddle returned bitingly. "Wow, I hadn't noticed. The difference is that you're a naïve, no doubt spoilt, light side brat as opposed to him."

Harry spluttered.

"You arrogant douche, you know nothing about my life!"

"I know enough to know I don't give a damn about finding out more."

"And there was me thinking you were supposed to be famously charming," Harry sniped. Riddle's eyes narrowed, but then, his expression changed, shuttering.

"You need to give a statement, I figured I'd take it on the way to whatever your guardians are and avoid the copious time wasting and paperwork."

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

Tom Riddle sat in his study, swirling wine in a glass, reflecting on the day, before setting his drink down firmly and fleeing to his soul space. Harry eyed him.

_"_You met Harry."

"Yes."

"You didn't have to be so harsh. The poor kid's probably bewildered."

"Oh don't lecture me," he said coldly. "I don't care how I came across, or about him."

"Well, I hope you don't let him die, considering he holds the rest of my soul regardless of his apparent personality change."

"You're the only reason I bothered to save his life, rest assured."

Harry shot him a disapproving look.

"It's not his fault, you know."

"Yes it is."

"I think he would be good for you-"

"-And I don't care what you think."

Harry merely arched his brows at that, walking towards him, latching onto his arm to note the shadows around them drift backwards a bit.

"He's out there, Tom," Harry said softly. "He's a real person who can move and fight and duel and keep you company.

""You can do all those things."

"Damn it - I'm a soul shard in the back of your mind, it doesn't count! And you can't just replace me for reality."

"Why not? I prefer it in here," he dismissed. Harry stared at him, flatly.

"And that's the problem. You're alive, you're not supposed to - and don't start on the whole you don't abide by limitations thing, your body does which is why visiting gets dangerously close to killing you when you do it too much - be here. A soul space is for souls, the subconscious, you're not allowed to come here. You could get stuck, do you understand, Tom? _Stuck, _in _nothingness_."

"With you."

"With me," Harry swallowed, looking away, lowering his gaze, suddenly looking tired. "Except, I'm out there too.

""No you're not. Some Gryffindorish brat is."

"I was a Gryffindorish brat when you first met me, I became Harrison Evans upon meeting you. Before, I was like him, except more miserable."

"Exactly, you were more like me. He's…not. He's too innocent."

"He's immortal, you made him immortal, I'm pretty sure the world won't leave him unscarred forever. You should let him be innocent while he can be, be happy for him."

"Happy for him?" he whispered harshly. "I can't even stand being around the child!"

It was like getting stabbed in the stomach, repeatedly, each wound infected by memories and a taunt of how much he had failed.

"Well, considering you're not going to let him die for _my _soul, you're kinda going to have to learn to tolerate him," Harry stated. "Or were you just going to ignore him forever?"

"Pretty much."

"_Tom!" _Harry snapped. He stared back icily, unrelenting. The Horcrux glared back, unmoved. "Look, can you do it for me, then? He's going to need someone to help him comes to terms with being immortal, at least. You owe him that much."

"I owe him nothing. Besides, he wants nothing to do with me."

"Try, for me - for _you_! Seriously, you're starting to spend far too much time in here again. It's going to make you ill. It isn't right. I'm-"

"-I know what you are, darling, I created you," he interrupted tightly, before Harry could get started. He knew perfectly well exactly what the Horcrux was, its limitations and its strengths.

"Look at me, Tom," Harry whispered, taking hold of his jaw, forcing eye contact. "Really look, and don't just remember the past."

He scanned his gaze across obligingly, before back to eyes that were crimson once again. He sent out a shot of energy to force them back to green again, and Harry sighed.

"You can't live in your head, Tom, creating a world just for the two of us, in denial that this has happened because you have me here…it does not do the dwell on dreams and forget to live."

"I hope you're not quoting Dumbledore, because that's appalling, sweetheart."

Harry moved back away from him, fading a little immediately at the lack of contact, staring at him challengingly, phantom tears rolling down his cheeks, filled with frustration and sorrow.

"I'm not real, Tom. I'm just a tiny fraction of soul that you're projecting onto, like the diary. I'm like this because this is what you want. When you're not here I'm nothing."

"How romantic."

Harry didn't look amused, but also seemed to realise he was getting nowhere. He never did, and they had a variation of this conversation at least once a week.

"Just give him a chance, that's all I ask. I know he's not me, but you seemed more alive today than I've seen you in years."

Tom didn't deign to give that a response.

Harry blanched as a heavy, elegant letter was dropped onto his table by the standard ministry owl. Hermione's gaze fixed on it from the head table.

It reminded him of the flashes when other-Harry had got letters from Voldemort. It was kind of the same thing. It slit open in front of him, Riddle obviously guessing he wouldn't acknowledge it alone.

_We need to talk._

_Come to the edge of Hogsmeade on your next visit. If you don't, I'll find you, and I'm sure you 'remember' what that's like. _

_Tom Riddle. _

"Is that from the Tom Riddle?" a voice demanded excitedly across the table from him. "Did you know that he apparently-"

Harry had the oddest sense of déjà vu.

Bloody Fate.


	25. Logical Considerations

_Bewarned, here lie attempts at slash. Be afraid. _

* * *

"If you leave with him now - we're over!" Jessica, his girlfriend of sixth months, exclaimed, standing up from the table, flushed. Everyone in the café turned to stare at him, gaping, and, not for the first time, Harry wished he wasn't quite so famous.

"Jess-" he began helplessly. "I'm sorry, Harry!" she shrieked, before quieting down slightly, tears glistening in her eyes. "I'm sorry…but I can't do this, this is the third time _in a row _that _he's _needed you for some state emergency while we're supposed to be on date. I just - I don't want to be second best to someone all the time, fifth on your list of priorities or something, I'm supposed to be your girlfriend!"

Harry stared at the table, fists clenched, knowing he should have expected this.

This was what always happened when he tried to date a girl - when he actually managed to find a girl who wanted to go out with him, didn't think he was gay and wasn't just out to use him as a stepping stone to further their ambitions.

He wasn't a good boyfriend, he knew that, and he knew they deserved guys who could be 100% devoted to them without having to worry about running the country…or, it seemed, running off with Tom.

He sighed heavily.

Tom seemed to be a recurring theme in the breakdown of his relationships, sometimes due to the fact that his girlfriends felt like 'spare wheels,' others because the Slytherin Heir frightened them off or lost his patience with them and said something rather personal and scathing.

Mostly, from what he'd gathered, it was because they felt second priority to his 'relationship' with the young Dark Lord, but sometimes from the latter. Like with Emily…that had been bad.

Since then, he'd banned Tom from giving an honest answer to any of his girlfriends when they asked "why don't you like me?" "what is your problem with me?" or any variants beside because Tom literally detailed every flaw he found in them until they broke down crying.

Ugh, it was such a nightmare. He was going to die alone or something pathetic. Maybe he'd be better off buying a cat…

"Okay," he said, as calmly as he could, desperately trying not to look at the Slytherin Heir in question, who had paused, seeming somewhat frozen, at the door of the café.

It was another political crisis in their campaign - an actual crisis, he'd soon put a stop to Tom simply telling him there was a crisis and then it mysteriously being dealt with before he got there or it merely not being as critical as the other made out - something about the lycanthropic treaties from what Tom had quickly told him.

"I hope we can stay friends."

She stared at him, outraged, and he realised she'd probably expected him to put up more of a fight…not that he had time.

He dropped cash for the meal and for her taxi home, pressing a kiss to her cheek, before walking out.

Tom fell into step with him, and his mood darkened.

"Harry-" the other started.

"Don't bloody well comment," he muttered, utterly miserable. Tom fell silent, but he could feel irritating dark eyes examining him.

"…are you okay? Do I need to send an office lackey out for ice cream or something?"

"Just DROP IT!" he rounded on the other, glaring. "Seriously, what part of _don't_ bloody well comment did you not understand?"

Tom's eyebrows arched, but, thankfully, he turned away, going quiet.

Harry's mood immediately plummeted more, irritable and snappish, and he didn't know why. The silence stretched across professionalism for most of the next three days, and the crisis was eventually sorted out after over twenty intensive hours of meetings and conferences.

He was looking forward to nothing so much as collapsing in his bed with a cup of tea, or maybe just going to a bar to try and forget that he'd just been dumped.

_Again. _

He was halfway out, breathing a sigh of relief to be done for the day (at least, to be able to leave without the nation imploding, there was always something he could do) when Esmeranne, his PA, approached him with a grim look on her face. He nearly cried.

"What is it now?" he asked, through gritted teeth.

"Sorry," she whispered, tentatively holding out a copy of Witch Weekly.

_Heartbroken Harry - Single Saviour_

He stared at the article for a moment, mentally cursing.

"Wait," Abraxas demanded, across the office, staring, "you broke up with Jess? _When? _What happened?"

Harry scrunched the paper in his fist, swearing under his breath.

"Can you do some damage control…did Jess-?" his throat tightened. He'd had girlfriends who went to the press after a bad break up before. Esmeranne shook her head, sympathetically.

"No, her friend, I think. We've got lawyers ready to sue her for libel at your command, you should have a strong case-"

"No," he dismissed, rubbing his face, tired. "No, it's fine. It'll just give them more to talk over. It'll blow over in a week or so. It normally does…is there anything else I need to do?"

"Get some sleep," she replied softly. "And come in tomorrow for that meeting with the Fey and later, York."

"Right, thanks," he muttered, scooping papers off his desk, jotting it to his overflowing, cramped, self-updating planner (thank you Hermione! The girl had invented them for him and Tom after seeing how swamped they were) and striding out the office, an awkward silence in his wake.

* * *

Tom poured himself a cup of coffee, navigating around the kitchen of his and Harry's shared flat early the next morning.

They'd had separate houses originally, fully able to afford it with their prestige as the defeaters-of-Voldemort and numerous other factors, but it had turned out to be inconvenient.

They spent so much time together, working on whatever project or part of the campaign late into the night and sometimes well into the morning, that it seemed kind of…pointless. They just ended up staying in the same house, switching whose it technically was every week or so anyway.

Harry was upstairs somewhere, no doubt moping over that girl…he'd forgotten her name again. Jessica? Yes, Jessica. He was no doubt sulking over being single again, but really, Tom did not see the problem.

It obviously wasn't going to work out between the two of them, anyway, for the same reasons it didn't work out with Sarah…or Emily…or that Cho girl or whatever other relationships Harry had been in the last seven years or so. He didn't tend to remember their names.

Harry was picking the wrong type of girl - they were always too…vanilla, bland, dull. Nice girls, friendly girls. He was picking what he thought he wanted, the expected ideal, not what he actually wanted.

Granted, he was certain Harry did actually like his numerous lovers, but that didn't mean they should be his lovers. Whether Harry admitted it or not, he _was _a masochist, it was clear as day.

It came from the same place his hero complex stemmed, and his suicidal tendencies and whatever other psychological complexities and insecurities. The guilt. Harry felt too much guilt, and, so, normally tended to feel uncomfortable being fully happy without any pain or suffering as he felt he didn't deserve it.

Ridiculous, but it was probably the case. But then, Harry was weird. He doubted the boy would be very submissive either. He didn't know.

Either way, nice girls didn't cut it.

Cheating scum wouldn't work either, because Harry was far superior to that and didn't need infidelity exacerbating his lack of self-worth, however well he hid it.

The second issue was time: Harry simply did not have time to have an active social life outside of work and the campaign.

For any relationship of Harry's to work, the person would have to already be integrated into his life and share the same restraints and so understand them, and then be flexible and willing and able to work around them.

He wasn't stupid, he could see full well that he was one of the few people who actually fit the full criteria, and was beginning to wonder if he should push the issue or not.

It was a logical answer to the problem.

Harry wouldn't go to sulking after being dumped, Tom wouldn't have to share with and tolerate some other random person and endure conversations trying not to rip their undeserving throats out.

It wasn't like there was no chemistry between them either, and the masochist tendency was dealt with due to his own sadism. Perfect.

Well, imperfect, but perfect was boring so why aim for it? It also dealt with the whole thing of them both being immortal and everyone else being decidedly mortal.

It wasn't like Harry wasn't attractive. And everyone already thought they were a couple anyway.

He looked up when said boy wandered into the kitchen, eyes bleary, obviously hung-over. His jaw clenched with disapproval. More inconvenience - Harry was always so annoying after he'd had a break up.

"Guess what?" Harry questioned, without greeting. "I'm engaged!"

He nearly spat out his drink.

* * *

"What do you mean you're engaged?" Tom demanded, following him out the kitchen (he'd only gone in there to announce his news and grab a hangover cure from the fridge.)

"Well, the general definition is when two people have agreed to get married," he replied, flippantly.

Now his head was clear, he was starting to wonder if announcing it had been a good idea. He knew it had been quick, really quick, but…well, he'd got a letter from Pansy Parkinson.

Apparently, her father was setting up an arranged marriage between her and the former Quidditch Captain, Marcus Flint. Even he knew that Flint was known for his brutish misogyny, Pansy would have been crushed and doomed in such a union as the troll-like boy would have demanded her to only be the 'perfect' meek wife he wanted and nothing else, and Pansy, being admittedly not the prettiest or most wealthy of the purebloods, had not had any other offers.

So he'd offered.

There were worse things to get married for, surely? And it wasn't like he was tied to act like her husband or anything really. They'd agreed.

They could just get married and live their separate lives, she could pursue her career and he could…have a family. He wouldn't have to be alone. His only worry was that she would fall in love with someone, and that her marriage would impede her from following through…but, if that was the case, he was hardly going to object to her doing what she wanted and getting a divorce.

He didn't know.

But it was better than being alone.

And she knew what he was like, what to expect, and arranged marriages were never perfect so there was less pressure.

They were also very pureblood and very traditional, so he didn't know why Tom seemed so displeased. Surely he should be happy Harry was marrying a pureblood, at least? The other seized his arm, tightly, preventing him from apparating to the office.

"You know, I have a meeting with the Fey in half an hour," he said.

"You know," Tom replied, tightly. "Most people on a rebound go to a bar and have one night stands, they do not go out and marry the first single person they come across. Are you _that _desperate?"

Harry could feel utter fury beginning to bubble in his gut, and wrenched his arm away.

"Yeah, actually," he said coldly. "I reckon I am. I'll tell you how the meeting goes."

He spun on the spot to apparate, only for Tom to grab hold of his arms again.

"Why? It's not like your un-dateable. For Salazar's sake, you're only twenty two, it's not like you're old and losing your hair anything, what's the rush? Are you that _scared _of being alone and rejected?"

Harry scowled.

"That's not what this is about-" he began, angrily.

"-What happened to marrying for love? Aren't you supposed to be the champion of love not duty and all such things?" Tom continued fiercely.

"Weren't you the one who so often preached love to be a curse? Pitiful? Crippling? You view caring as a disease, so I don't see what you're objection is!"

"And you were the one who said that you're not supposed to be me," Tom hissed. "You'd be miserable in an arranged marriage, and this one is absurdly sudden." The other's head tilted, and fingers seized his jaw, suspiciously turning his face this way and that. "Are you under a love potion?"

Harry glared.

"No!"

"You _would _say that if you were under one…who's the girl?"

"Actually, considering what a bastard you're being, I don't think I'll tell you."

"Then why did you bring it up?" Tom questioned coolly, annoyingly.

Harry felt frustrated. Why had he brought it up? He supposed he'd wanted reassurance on the correctness of his decision, approval - which, on both counts, was a pretty stupid thing to go to Tom for. He didn't know.

"Well, I was hoping you'd be my friend and say congrats about it, but it seems I was wrong," he replied. "Fey meeting. Have to go."

Tom's grip remained tight, and while he could have thrown the other off, he didn't. If he did, Tom was likely to simply continue this conversation at the office, and they'd both learned taking 'home' to 'work' was a really terrible idea. It was like bickering seriously in public, it just escalated, and against the rest of the world they couldn't afford to be anything less than a united front.

"You want me to _congratulate _you?" Tom whispered, harshly. "I'll do so when I have something to congratulate, hero. Who. Is. She? Call this off."

"Wow, you're actually telling me to call off my engagement…careful, or I'll start wondering if there's not something more to your hatred of my girlfriends…you're starting to sound a little jealous."

Tom's hands withdrew as if scalded, and Harry quickly spun on the spot to apparate out, arriving at the office. He'd barely taken two steps before there was a loud crack next to him, fingers digging into his shoulder and waist, another dizzying spin and then, before he could settle on his feet, he was shoved backwards, his back hitting the wall of their house once more.

Tom's expression had switched from cold disdain, mockery and incredulity to something far more dangerous.

"Come now, darling, are you telling me you hadn't considered the possibility already?" Tom murmured, into his ear. "Everyone else has, including your girlfriends."

"I-what?"

"Jealousy, Harry. Is this truly the first time such a thought crossed your mind? You've certainly commented on my possessiveness enough, it should have been a logical conclusion. I've warned you of it before, after all…"

He swallowed.

"Yes, well, unfortunately for you, I'm not putting my life or my engagement on hold just because _you_ don't like sharing."

"That _is_ unfortunate, because I find myself in a strong disagreement over that claim," Tom replied. "Call. Off. Your. Engagement."

"This is ridiculous!" Harry exclaimed. "Why do you care? I suppose my having a social life is utterly inconvenient for you, is that it?"

"Yes, actually," Tom said. "And it's inconvenient for you too…or hadn't you noticed that you've been getting repeatedly dumped by your lovers because you didn't have _time _for them?"

Harry hissed, furiously.

"Screw you, you're no relationships expert, you loathe the thought of anything to do with dating and - and love and-"

"Perhaps, but I would say that by now I'm quite the expert on _you." _

There was a tense, heavy, silence, filled with...something.

"I've made my decision," he said coldly, "you're just going to have to accept it. Now, unless you'd like to ruin Britain's relationship with the Fey I suggest you _excuse me." _

Tom's hands retracted after a moment, but his eyes were hard.

"This conversation isn't over."

Harry didn't deign to give that a response.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson turned around, and then abruptly froze.

Tom Riddle was leaning in the door of her office, arms folded, gaze as cold as diamonds.

"Harry told you, didn't he?" she whispered, nervous.

"Not exactly, but I figured it out. Your letter was on his bed."

He'd gone through Harry's stuff? No doubt without permission, she couldn't say she was entirely surprised, she just thought her…fiancé would have warded his room better.

Then again, Tom was very good with ward breaking.

And torture curses.

Her mouth ran dry.

"I didn't force him into it," she mumbled, pretty sure it was essential that she put that out. He merely gave a hum, walking further into the room, examining things, fingers running across the surface of her desk. "He offered, because-"

"Because of Flint's reputation," her lord finished, curtly. "And his damned hero complex…and you…well, you just couldn't say no, could you? Disappointingly, this is the second time you've crossed me in regard to getting closer to him…I understand you're not blessed with an extraordinary intelligence or even presence of mind, but did you truly not comprehend that he is _mine._"

"Harry won't let you harm me," she said, quickly. "And he'd know it was you."

His lips curled, gracefully.

"I'm not here to kill you or torture you," he replied silkily. "You're doing this to avoid the oppression of your former arranged marriage, correct?"

"Yes," she whispered, humiliatingly have to clear her throat.

She'd never actually been alone in a room with the young Dark Lord, never had him seek her out with his full attention upon her and her alone. It was terrifying, exhilarating, but either way didn't aid her coherency.

"I will guarantee your freedom if you break off the engagement," he stated. "Permanently. You will not approach him in such a manner again. No one knows about it yet."

"And you won't seek retribution after?" she questioned, anxiously, hardly knowing where she found the braveness to bargain for that, to not just immediately succumb under his frosty gaze.

After a moment, he inclined his head in acknowledgement and agreement.

"Consider it a deal. You will break off the engagement immediately."

All of a sudden, she thought of Harry. He'd hate her doing this, and he'd been so nice and charming and yet, and yet…

"What if I don't agree?" she asked tremulously. His stared at her, absolutely no compassion or emotion of any sort upon his handsome features.

"Then I will destroy you, regardless of his opinion on the matter."

His expression warned her not to question him further, and if she was more courageous, she would have pressed on and told him it was unfair of him to condemn Harry to loneliness, to ask if he had any plans himself concerning the Boy-Who-Lived. But she didn't dare.

"I accept," she said, feeling nauseas and hollow, sliding the ring off her finger. "You'll get this back to him?"

He held his hand out wordlessly, and left as abruptly as he came.

She sunk to the floor, unable to stop shaking, wondering just how close to death she had come.

* * *

Harry stormed into Tom's office, barely having the presence of mind to slam the shut behind him in intemperate rage.

"What the _hell _is wrong with you?" he snarled, tossing his engagement ring on the desk between them.

Less then twenty four hours. Wow. Tom surveyed him calmly.

"You didn't truly think I would just stand aside and let you marry under the full knowledge that it would make you miserable, did you?"

"It wasn't yours to decide!" he spat. "I'm miserable already."

"No, you're feeling rejected because that bitch dumped you, there's a distinct difference."

"Jess is not some bitch," he growled. "For Salazar's sake-"

"-Irrelevant," Tom dismissed. "Besides, you don't need to form an arranged marriage just because you feel insecure and don't want to be alone-"

"Oh, as opposed to what?" he hissed. "In case you hadn't noticed, there's not actually that big a pool of people who want to have anything to do with me like that simply for my own merits!"

In an instant, Tom was in front of him, and he automatically took a step back.

"Why is it," the Slytherin Heir questioned, with a hint of exasperation, "that after all this time, you still can't see yourself clearly?"

Harry frowned, confused. He _could _see himself clearly - he knew his own strengths and limitations better than anyone, and told the other so.

"Clearly not, as otherwise you'd see that you're not un-dateable and are highly unlikely to end up alone," Tom replied.

"Oh, yeah?" Harry's brows raised, still fuming. "Who in their right mind would date _me? _I constantly drag everyone around me into danger, and am otherwise too busy too give them the time and attention they deserve, I-"

"-I'd date you."

Harry's mouth snapped shut, and he stared at the other, before his eyes narrowed.

"Funny, Tom, I _swear _if this is one of your sick experiments or games-"

"-I'm serious, if that's what you're asking."

Harry's mind was spinning, and, all of a sudden, bizarrely, his stomach felt knotted and his hands wanted to shake.  
"But…you're straight…I'm straight…I…like girls."

"If you're going down that route, you could at least try and sound convincing," Tom replied, before shrugging. "Straight. Gay. Asexual. Bi. It's just more labels Harry, and when have labels ever applied to us? It's a logical solution."

And suddenly everything came flooding back. Logic, right. He wasn't sure why he felt insulted.  
It's just...it suddenly really pissed him off that even this had to about logic, without feeling. What did he expect from a psychopath?

"It's _logical_, of course, should have seen that coming," he muttered. "Just convenience, right? Well, thanks, but no thanks - if you'd just give me my ring-"

"-this is why you shouldn't drink extensively, darling, you need everything spelled out for you the day after," Tom sighed.

The next second, lips had crashed upon his own, a burning, tingling weight.

His mind promptly went completely blank. Fingers curled into his hair, tugging to reposition his head like the other wanted it.

That, more then anything, made him react.

He bit the other's lip, hard, blood tasting like copper in his mouth. Tom hissed, but then Harry also felt him smile, and a struggle for dominance ensued.

There was nothing sweet or gentle about it, but, it wasn't angry or hateful either. He didn't know.

Everything seemed to go white hot, and he couldn't think outside of pain and pleasure and…and then, Harry remembered that he was _kissing Tom _and abruptly pulled back, pushing the taller boy away.

Tom smirked at him, not seeming all that put out, tongue licking up the blood on his lips, thoughtfully, before he spoke.

"Chemistry and attraction is also a logical consideration, darling, it's just endorphins and science."

Harry flushed.

"You can't just kiss me!" he exclaimed.

"Why not? I rather enjoyed it…and you didn't seem to have all that many objections either."

"I-you're infuriating! That's _not _the point!"

"Then what is?" Tom questioned.

"Because I - I don't fancy you…I don't think…it would mess things up! And everyone would just look at us like 'wow, that's so not a surprise' and yeah, it would mess things up. I screw people up in relationships and-" he stopped, eyes narrowing. "Are you _laughing?"_ he hissed, furiously.

Tom waved a hand, as if in surrender, pressing a hand over his mouth. Harry folded his arms.

"It's not funny!"

"No, it's just…you're worried about a screwed up relationship…with me," Tom stated. "Do you not find that ironic? I screw everyone up. It's what I do. We're already screwed up, there's not really much worse you can do."

Harry's brow furrowed.

"But-I-you-I-"

"Careful," the other sounded amused still. "I might get offended soon."

He glanced up at that, despite the jokiness of the statement, and tried to get a grip over himself.

"Right. Um. I think…I think I need to think."

"Eloquent.

""Shut up, Tom," he said, rolling his eyes, before blinking in shock. Wow. He actually wasn't feeling incredibly awkward.

"Make me," the other smirked, daring, challenging. All the things he was familiar and knew how to work with.

After a moments hesitation, he walked over, and did.  
It felt like his lips were on fire or something.

This time, it was Tom who eventually drew away, and they studied each other.

"No more thoughts of getting engaged to Parkinson, then?" Tom questioned, eyes intent. Harry pretended to consider, before shrugging.

"Is Daphne Greengrass still single?" he questioned, grinning.

"Irrelevant," Tom said, returning with a dangerous smirk of his own. "_You're_ not."

And all of a sudden he couldn't breathe again.

…He could get used to it.

* * *

A/N: Writing slash, or romance in general, is absolutely terrifying? Have I mentioned that?  
My first proper kiss scene that I've ever written...if it's crap, blame that.

Also, note, this is only a slash oneshot, the rest of my work and my main stories are not going to become slash, so you can either stop worrying or feel disappointed :P I can't do sustained romance, be it het or slash. But yeah, I hope you enjoyed the experiment here...:)

I have concluded that I definitely prefer non slash and my regular dynamic, and will stick to it, but I was curious to stretch my writing horizons and figured I'd give it a go, so yeah, sorry you had to see that :P


	26. Early

Tom sat on his armchair in the Common Room, a dark and ultimately sinister cast to his features. The snakes cowered fearfully around him - it was glorious. It wasn't often that he indulged in this aspect of his games, or, indeed, that he found the time to.

Obviously, such things were largely impossible when Harry was around, and, though he didn't pause too long to think on it, it was also more than plausible that it was the _fact _Harry wasn't around that so spurred these scenarios.  
See, he was bored.

This had been a problem that was largely solved since Harry entered his life. The emerald-eyed boy was a delicious challenge, and normally...tempered his violence, soaking it up and letting it clash back to him in exhilarating defiance.

Except, Harry wasn't here now. So he soon found himself bored again, and old toys were promptly extracted, soothed, before he started to _play. _

It was nothing so blatant as torture; regrettably even the shadows of the dungeon didn't provide enough protection and cover for _that _game...but he supposed he'd grown up having to make do. More so, Harry's bargainings limited him to not being able to cause any direct damage.

Yet, his toys still cowered, awaiting their turn with equal terror and excitement.

He didn't attack directly, but he began to pull the strings more pointedly within ten hours of Harry being gone, turning them on each other, watching them bicker for his attentions, increasingly violent. They knew he got bored too, and that alone had them scrabbling to be the interesting ones, playing straight into his hands.

The best part was that, externally, they could see it happening, which only exacerbated their terror. They could sense him stalking amongst them, in the darkness, picking them off one by one, teasing out their greatest fears and desires and turning them back like knives.

He liked using their hopes and dreams most of all; the cruellest of cuts were those made by things which his victims found comfort in, because it stripped them from their normal fall-back safety zone.

So far, he'd destroyed an arranged marriage and caused a potential feud between three families, whose heirs were now turning to him in panic at the possible ramifications of their actions, _begging _him to make it better.

He'd hospitalized Draco Malfoy and was since enjoying the conflict tearing Abraxas apart, and the way he was torn between squirming and grovelling or restoring the honour of his family in challenging Tom about the unwarranted attack. Well, largely unwarranted, he still hadn't forgiven the ferret for giving Harry the remembrall, and retribution would still be a long time coming before the boy even had the chance of being in his good graces.

All in all, he was taking it slowly, pulling gently at his web, watching it deform while all his flies suffocated themselves in their frantic hurry to get to the center throne at which he stayed, safe. Harry was away for a week, and he was only two days in.

No one had tried to commit suicide yet, but he gave it until the end of the week. Personally, he was betting on the scrawny little first year whose name he hadn't bothered remembering. One student had come to him pleading to change dorms, as her other roommates turned on her, whipped into a frenzy of ugly jealousy. He always found it adorable how they came to _him _for help...they suspected he was the cause behind the sudden explosion within their house, the creeping poison, but it was just a suspicion, a whisper they felt they knew but couldn't confirm.

Right now, however, it being a Friday Night in which he really needed to let off steam after a week of playing innocent and charming, with no Harry to not have to fake it with in the evenings - and when had he become to rely on those moments so much? He was simply having them fight each other for his amusement.

It was going perfectly.  
Then the explosion went wrong.

"What the _hell _is going on?"

* * *

It was their Seventh Year at Hogwarts, and his and Tom's political campaign had been well underway for about a year too, though they were more in a recruitment, drawing support, setting up organisations and businesses type of stage than any overt campaign considering they were still at school.

Nonetheless, this time around, Harry had just simply gone to stay with Sirius over Easter for one of the two weeks. Tom had opted to stay behind, but that could be because he still didn't get on with Sirius...

Still, as always in his life, things didn't seem to want to go to plan. Sirius was called to the Auror Department (he'd returned to his old job) with some ministerial crisis, and so he'd ended up just returning to Hogwarts, though Sirius had insisted he didn't have to and he could make himself at home.

Either way, he hadn't been in the best of moods, and, upon entering the Dungeons, he found his mood dramatically swooping down.

Tom's head turned at his demand. While on a superficial level, it might seem that everything was all well within the common room, Harry knew differently.

It was too calm, and there was a broken edge of carnage under smooth surfaces, and people missing and...christ.

"You're home early," Tom murmured, eyeing him. "Holiday not go well?"

"Tom, what's going on?" he repeated, dangerously, eyes narrowed. He had a horrible feeling about what exactly was going on, he'd seen this before, right in the early days - flashes of it anyway, but not to this extent. Tom had picked up on playing 'games' with people again.

He'd always heard the stories, but never particularly witnessed the event - nor had any of the Slytherins ever spoken about Tom's crueller edges so much, aside from perhaps Zevi making a brief allusion of warning a couple of times.

Imogen had always theorised he'd never witnessed this because he'd switched to being Tom's primary 'toy,' or challenge, or whatever equivalent, meaning Tom previous forms of entertainment had been placed on hold. It all got channelled into their interactions, which was why, Imogen theorised, they came across so intense, especially on Tom's side.

"Duelling challenge," Tom replied, nonchalantly. "Daphne's-"

"-**Stop lying," **he hissed, his fists clenching. "I can't believe you!" All pleasantness slipped from the Slytherin Heir's features.

"You can't believe it?" Tom repeated, delicately, eyes flashing as he too stood, turning to face him, all casualness discarded. They both knew what this argument was about, there was no point pretending they didn't because it would simply grow choking and he was too _mad _to leave it alone or do this subtly. "Which part are you having difficulty believing? I'm a psychopath."

"You can't just use that as your god-damn blanket excuse for acting like a bastard!"

"It's not an excuse," Tom replied coldly. "It's a fact." The other strode over to him, grabbing his arm as he spoke, promptly hauling him out of the common room and presumably in the direction of the Room of Requirement.

"Still doesn't give you an excuse to - to toy - with people," Harry growled.

"Does boredom?" Tom replied, voice like a whip, sharp, mocking. Harry wrenched his arm away angrily.

He remembered all the times he'd been away, and the nervousness and palpable relief of the Slytherin's when he returned - he'd considered, somewhere in his mind, that things happened when he was away, but it felt entirely different when he was confronting the possibility as fact.

"B-boredom!" He nearly spluttered with incredulous fury. Of course, Tom was bored so he decided to go and torture people. "No! Just - no. No. This stops today, right here, right now. If it ever happens again I swear I'm out."

Salazar, he felt sick.

"Why?" the Slytherin Heir rounded on him, eyes flashing.

"What the hell do you mean _why_?" Harry began, absolutely fuming, his muscles knotted with the effort it was taking not to attack the other. Tom gripped his arms again, seeming to sense it - too tightly, enough to leave livid bruises. "It's - it's wrong, you can't just torture people because you're _bored!"_

"Obviously I can," Tom drawled, infuriatingly, before his features hardened to match his mood. "It's funny, how you so preach being true to yourself, but can't accept my base nature." He didn't sound amused at all. Harry's teeth gritted. Tom continued before he could get a word in edgeways, leaning in. "Why should I have to compromise on this, what, just because it insults your sensibilities?"

They glared at each other, and Harry felt like everything was getting tunnelled and this was just such - _crap! - _and this really wasn't how he'd planned his Easter to go.

"Yeah, stupid of me to assume you were better than this and didn't go around _torturing _people behind my back," Harry hissed, venomously, pulling out of Tom's grip again, pacing, only for the other to seize hold of him again. He nearly snarled aloud.

"I'm failing to see the difference between this and your hero complex," Tom returned, coolly. "Which you have stubbornly refused to rectify despite my best efforts on the matter."

"Of course there's a difference, saving people isn't completely immoral-"

"-at which point did you start thinking again that I gave one whit about morality?" the Slytherin enquired, too lightly. The silence seemed suffocating, choking, so heavy it was smothering. Tom's arms folded. "I don't see why I should compromise with you further when you refuse to change for me, you can consider it a kindness that I've never pushed this issue before-"

"-oh please," Harry snapped. "You didn't do it out of _kindness_, you did it because you knew there was no way I'd tolerate it, and because it was easier for you. Seriously, is this what happens every time I'm around? You just start torturing people like you're Volde-"

"I am him."

Tom's declaration stopped him short, freezing him on the spot, his chest feeling oddly tight and rigid. He resisted the urge to swallow.

"You're Voldemort?" he repeated, his voice quiet and infinitely dangerous now in its soft calmness.

"Yes, I've told you this before," Tom replied, unflinchingly. "I am him, but he's not me...what, you think that soul part came out of nowhere, Harry? I _enjoy _hurting people, I've told you this before, so why the _hell _are you acting like this is some sort of surprise and disappointment for you?"

"You're not Voldemort," he stated flatly. That was one thing he wouldn't - couldn't - compromise on, everything rested on it. It was like yanking the keystone out of an arch.

"I'm not some tame, domesticated version of him either," Tom snapped in response, eyes burning, blazing like some magical fire. "This is who I am, are you going to be my supposed _friend _and accept that or not?"

Harry felt like a shard of ice had just been stabbed into his stomach. His mouth felt dry.

"No," he whispered. "I-bloody hell, you want me to accept you torturing people for _fun..._but surely you need to accept that's something I _can't _do, it's as much as my personality to not as it is yours to-"

"-So I should just change to suit your needs then? Why don't you buckle to compromise with me for once," Tom replied coldly. Harry freed his arms once more, gently this time, turning away, exhaling through gritted teeth. He could feel a headache coming on.

He could, reluctantly, see where Tom was coming from with this standpoint, but that didn't make it any easier. This behaviour, torture, repulsed him, he couldn't help it - he didn't even like torture when there was a 'good reason' behind it, let alone when it was just because Tom wanted to...

"How come I'm only just 'finding out' about this?" he questioned, careful to keep his tone composed. They'd had enough blow-ups by now to have matured a bit...a very little bit, and the thought of walking away after everything was inconceivable. So, as much as he wanted to storm out and cool off, he did actually have to face this now.

"Because when you're around I'm not _bored_," Tom stated curtly. It made Harry turn around, eyebrows raised, something odd squeezing in his chest.

"So, say, theoretically, if I didn't go away..." he tried.

"Then, yes, it's not as likely that I'll torture people out of boredom."  
Harry began to cautiously edged around the conversation matter, and Tom's appalling matter of factness regarding the atrocity, to try and find a solution.

Yet, he couldn't always be around, he _knew _that - they both knew if they did actually spend every minute of every day around each other that they would just drive each other insane. It wasn't a viable course of action.

"Contact me," he said, abruptly.  
This time it was Tom's eyebrows which rose.

"Excuse me?"

"Next time you get the urge to, uh, torture someone...contact me. I'll come find you."

"You make this sound like Alcoholics anonymous," Tom snorted, voice pitching mockingly, cruelly, higher. "Call me if you fancy a talk, Tom-"

"-Oh give it a break," Harry growled, annoyed. "I'm trying to compromise here, isn't that what you wanted? Me to attempt to compromise this, accept it and work for something we can both live with?"

Tom stared at him for a moment, expression unreadable.

"Fine," he said, at last. "Though I maintain I don't see this as any sort of problem."  
In other words, Tom was only going along with this for now, to appease him, and didn't actually acknowledge any correctness in Harry's opinion. Bastard. This would probably happen again until they found a more permenant...compromise.

"Fine," Harry agreed, his tone somewhat clipped. There was another moment of silence.

"So…why are you home early?"

* * *

_A/N: Prompt by Love8Peace, who requested what would happen if Harry found out about what happened with the Slytherin's while he was away...hope you enjoyed it :) It's not much, but it's something. I apologise my writing and updates have been lacking recently, but - hopefully - come thursday next week, I will be free, and inspiration will have space to return! Fingers crossed._

PS: Good luck to any exam-takers out there! I sympathise dearly.


	27. 5 ways to lose a girl

_Happy Birthday, Krysania! (Belatedly) Sorry that it took me so long to finish this and get it up, hope you like it :)_

_To the rest of you, bewarned of more slash attempts from me, as per Krysania's birthday request. Rest assured, non-slashers, that non-slash is still my predominant writing style, and will stay so for my main stories._

_Anyway. Here you go -_  
_Five ways to lose a girl, Tom Riddle style. (Goes with Logical Considerations, by the way)_

* * *

5 ways to lose a girl:

Tom had quickly come to the conclusion that he didn't like it when Harry started dating. Initially, with the whole Voldemort-time debacle, it had never been a concern on either side because they'd simply been too busy.

Now, however, was an entirely different matter.

Harry was a popular hero, a likely candidate for dozens of girls swarming to date him - not that Tom himself wasn't, but he was used to the attention and hardly cared to return it, unless a short-term pretence of affection was of particular benefit to his own agendas.

It wasn't that he was against the principle of Harry having a girlfriend so much, it was the inconvenience of having to _share _which he so despised.

It would have been alright if the bitches had just accepted that Harry's first priority should always be Tom himself, but most of them didn't under the opinion that they should be the most important thing to the Boy-Who-Lived. It always, inevitably, began to affect his own plans and life, hence being unacceptable.

As far as he was concerned they could (largely) do what they wanted in and on their own time. The problem was that most of them _insisted _on cutting into Tom's time as well.

With Chang, at first, he'd been patient and supportive; aside from the promise to her that he would tear her lungs out and make her life hell if she broke Harry's heart. The Ravenclaw obviously wasn't as bright as she claimed to be, because she'd assumed he was joking.

He'd been naive then, perhaps, and figured it wouldn't change things too much...and Harry seemed to like having a girlfriend. Oh, how wrong he had been!

Since then, he'd developed the art of losing Harry's girlfriend down to a mastery.

* * *

1) Convince the target that Harry was actually gay

The pros were that it was probably the easiest of all the methods, and could also act pre-emptively against later targets if the rumour mill was properly utilised.

The cons were that Harry tended to sulk and get very angry about this, though Tom had always made sure to feign complete and flawless innocence on the matter.

He supposed he could almost thank Chang for inspiring this one, as she came to it of her own accord. After far too long a time, true, and he'd since whittled the technique down to a ruthless level of efficiency. Not that it required much effort, he just needed to make his and Harry's existing relationship more overt because most people were dumbly ready to believe their romantic nature anyway. Not to mention, he was fully aware that he was extremely possessive, so even acting in this manner wasn't any trouble.

This method was probably best exemplified with...Laura, he thought that had been her name, though he didn't really bother to remember or distinguish between them.

It was simple really, the trick was just to exaggerate his habit of touching, for example. Hand holding seemed to be traditional in dating, and so he'd merely made sure to just physically move Harry every single time he wanted him somewhere.

Normally, he only did that only 90% of the time - though the cultivation of that facet of their dynamic was entirely Harry's fault, as the boy refused to move via order, and so physical force was generally easier.

And he enjoyed the power rush, of course.

He may have also planted some subtle rumours to spur the situation - nothing incriminating that could be used against either of them, naturally, but enough to cast doubt.

This cumalitive implication was enough to drive the less dedicated ones away, especially in the light of the slight easing of his normal masks. He knew he made a formidable figure even when he was being genial, and this was only heightened when he didn't bother and turned to cruelly pleasant mockery and ice.

The more persistent ones, or the brave or foolish ones depending on how you looked at it, tended to confront him.

_"What's going on between you and Harry?" Laura demanded, coming up behind him, hands on her hips as she glared at him suspiciously. _

_Tom turned slightly, putting her in his view, eyebrows arching._

_"You can't draw your own conclusions?" he questioned, offering neither confirmation or denial. "You know what you know, Miss Montgomery."_

_Laura stared at him, a suddenly vulnerable sheen to her gaze, appearing lost and uncertain._

_"I think he's in love with you," she stated, a slight quaver in her voice. "And you with him. Obviously, you don't like me that much because of that. Not that you deserve him." _

_"I take it you will be breaking up with him then," he stated, his tone abruptly cold. She bit her lip, fearful, taking an involuntary step back._

_"You should tell him, you know," she murmured,nonetheless, quietly. "Or you'll lose him. He just thinks you find his having a social life inconvenient and are being a bastard."_

_That comment did annoy him, for some reason, though it proved he'd played his part masterfully in regards to her absolute conviction. _

_She left before he could muster a suitable response. _  
_Harry spent that night furiously trying to figure out where people got the idea he was gay from._

* * *

2) The surprising effectiveness of an honest opinion

Pros; they normally broke down very quickly and couldn't take it. Whilst it didn't lead to an immediate break up, it damaged the longevity of the relationship irreparably, especially when used in combination with convincing the target of his and Harry's relationship, or method three, with its focus on the target's intrusive nature.

Cons; one time use only, and limited by thick skins. Harry had got incredibly aggravated and refused to talk to him for three weeks for being a "total git." Of course, he didn't know when Harry had gained the impression he was anything but a total git at heart, but that was a different matter. Nonetheless, though he rather enjoyed the effects, he was banned from ever giving a honest response to "what the hell is your problem with me" again.

Case study: Emily Saunders.

She'd been a feisty and courageous girl, he could see - in a clinical sort of way - why Harry had dated her. She was his type, and vaguely pretty too, in a petite, cute sort of way that was at complete odds with her personality.

She wasn't his least favourite, though he held no love lost for her because though she had her good points, they were highly outnumbered by her failings.

-  
_"Seriously, what the hell is your problem with me?" she'd exploded, after enduring his icy aloofness for about a month, as well as some of his other methods of exclusion. _

_Harry's eyes widened with something like horror, before he glared at Tom, warningly, almost pleadingly - jabbing a finger in his direction._

_"Don't answer that. Don't you dare!" he growled, only to be cut off by his girlfriend.  
__  
"No, by all means, do," Emily stated coldly, glowering at him, her cheeks flushed. "You've been a dick ever since I've met you, Riddle, and I'm sick of playing nice with your - issues!"_

_"Guys," Harry tried again, but he himself had flared up now, though he only smiled at her._

_"Problem one, you don't know your place. You're insolent, uncouth and unrefined, hardly suited to the leader of a political campaign. You like to think you're clever with all your opinions about the world...seeing as no one ever told you, _love_, reading a few books does not make you clever. You're dull and you're dumb, especially in contrast to Harry. Honestly, I don't know how he suffers through conversation with you..._

_You're also not a pureblood, or even a halfblood, and really, if you love your precious muggles so much you should leave the Wizarding World and rid it of your presence. Go and be a muggle instead! _

_Indeed, your only reason for staying is that you idealise the world far too much due to an obsession with fictional characters and worlds, which also makes me believe you're with him more because of the excitement of it all, rather than any more altruistic motivating factor -"_

_"-Tom!" Harry snapped, standing up angrily at the table, seizing his arm, ready to drag him out. Emily's eyes were aflame, though she'd gone a little pale. He shook off Harry's grip, pressing his finger firmly to the other's lips._

_"-Hush, Harry, i'm answering her question...didn't you tell me to be less standoffish with your various, ah, companions?" He eyed her coolly, continuing his fast recital as if without pause. "This makes me believe you are not worth him, and, considering the fact you're magically only average at best, this is further enhanced..._

_Personality wise, you are inferior to him in every single way, and he is so out of your league I'd suspect a love potion, if Harry wasn't so much in the habit of taking pity on stray cats and bringing them home. Clearly, this is a similar scenario._

_I've already identified that you're rude and somewhat stupid - though a nice person, like Harry, may mistake that foolishness for bravery. You're also a slut, I know, I looked up your records. Callum Johnston, tsk tsk, is that like an on-off 'it's complicated' type of thing or are you just rebounding now? Pathetically afraid of being alone, which is why you cling to Harry and abuse his affections... _

_You have some ambition, but lack the true drive to get to where you want, and instead have a horrible complacency about you...you may be able to fool some people into thinking that's contentedness, but the secret-supply of anti-depressants would suggest otherwise, and you are weak for accepting pills as a solution to your problems instead of confronting the situation head on. _

_As for physically, well, you're not exactly what I would call beautiful. You're plain, you wear too much make-up and you're overly aggressive in your approach. You think those clothes make you look trendy, they don't, they make you look pretentious and fat. More reason why I have problems with you, as, unless we're going for the sympathy vote spin, you're not ideal considering the amount of photo shoots we do."_

_The girl's eyes were started to look a bit wet, her hands and jaw clenched furiously. _  
_He continued once more, only pausing for breath._

_"You own a dog, I don't like dogs, so I have a problem with your appalling taste in pets. Now, that's the general overview of my problem with you, would you like me to go on detail as to my problem with-"_

"_**Tom, for god's sake! Stop it! You're being cruel-" **__Harry snarled._

_**"-She asked, darling,**__" he hissed, in return. "With your relationship with Harry too, or have I made my contempt for your complete and absolute unworthiness evident enough?"_

_Emily continued to stare at him, white as sheet, looking utterly shaken. Then, without a second gone by, she rounded the table, slapped him hard across the face with tears rolling down her cheeks, and strode out with her shoulders hunched defensively. _

_"Well done Tom," Harry sneered. "Really, thanks. In future, next time when my girlfriend's ask anything like that, don't give an honest answer." He strode out after her. _

_"Just looking out for your best interests, my dear," Tom called after._

* * *

3) Passive Aggressive date sabotage

Considering they ran a political campaign, and, really, with all the trouble in their lives, he was actually only being reasonable here.

They had crises - it was important that Harry didn't miss too much. It wasn't his fault such crises so often happened to collide with when Harry was on dates. To be fair, half the time there was something to deal with, that seemed to be the nature of their lives. The other half...he may have exaggerated in severity.

Unfortunately, Harry seemed to catch on to those pretty quickly, and would become rather annoyed. He didn't mind though. He personally found it rather funny when Harry got annoyed - not furious, but annoyed in a milder, grumpier way in which he just became even more snarky than normal and prone to flare up. It was fun.

Whilst this wasn't the most decisive strike, it tended to erode and chip away at any relationship longitude, especially when used in combination with his other methods.

Case in point: Lucy Coleman

_Tom strode into the expensive restaurant in person, looking around for a moment, before decisively stalking over to a white-clothed table in the corner._

_"Hi? Lucy, was it? Need to borrow your boyfriend, state of the nation at risk and all that..." he said pleasantly, gently snatching Harry's knife and fork out of his hands and placing them back on the table, already tugging to pull Harry's chair out too. "Come on, sweetheart, let's go..."_

_"Whoa - Tom," Harry grabbed his hands, seeming to not notice his girlfriend's sour expression at that, bless him. "What the hell? I'm kind of, er, busy, if you hadn't noticed."_

_"...Harry, we need your help. The campaign's in crisis!"_

_"And you can't solve it without me?" Harry questioned skeptically._

_"Your side of the campaign. You know I don't like dealing with all your magical creatures. Besides, it's you they're used to, unless you want the centaurs to think their welfare within this country is secondary to your desire to get laid?"_

_Both Harry and Lucy flushed at that statement, and he suppressed a smirk._

"_What's happening with the centaurs?" Harry questioned, looking like he had a headache building._

_"I-you can't seriously be considering going, can you?" Lucy whispered harshly. "It's our anniversary!" she looked at him, obviously trying to be patient and reasonable. "Can't you deal without him for one night? Or at least a few more hours, Tom?"_

_"I'm afraid not," he sighed. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't urgent."_

_Harry shot him a look at that, though he kept his features entirely innocent. _

_He came that time. And the time after that._

_By the third time, he'd given up on Tom's genuine intentions and his relationship was crumbling._

_Job well done._

_The fact he'd physically dragged Harry out by his tie one time probably didn't help._

* * *

4) Honey and Flies 

This one was probably his least favourite, and largely accidental. It was more a result of Harry growing suspicious of his other methods and going to some effort to prevent him repeating their "cruel" usage. It had a high chance of going wrong too.

The pro was that, for once, Harry didn't blame him in the slightest and that, if it worked correctly, the girl left Harry.

The worst part was that Harry was uneccessarily hurt by it, and it only exacerbated his friend's self-confidence issues.

Forced into his masks of charm and friendliness sometimes, just sometimes, the girl developed feelings for him - or, indeed, dated Harry in an effort to get his attention and get closer.  
Tom hated them most of all.

-  
_Tom looked up as Harry strode into the Office, looking utterly stressed out as he collapsed at his desk, rubbing absently at what seemed to be a growing headache.  
_  
_He frowned slightly, though Harry made no comment about anything being out of the ordinary (not that he expected the man to.) His shoulders were hunched defensively though, and his posture was otherwise a bit too casual, his features too smooth._

_He made none of his normal conversation with their employees, or even Tom himself, keeping to himself, gaze lowered to his work._

_Tom abandoned his own paperwork for a moment, studying the other openly.  
Harry glanced up, clearly sensing the scrutiny, raising his eyebrows pointedly before looking away again. _

_He didn't make an effort to question further, not then, anyway. He waited for the day to finish, and for them to head back to their home._

_Except, Harry seemed absolutely determined to work a ridiculous amount of overtime. It was ten O clock, neither of them had eaten since lunch time, and everyone else had long since gone home._

_He made his way over, leaning against Harry's desks, arms folded._

_"That peace treaty plan will still be here tomorrow, sweetheart. Let's go," he instructed._

_"You go on ahead," Harry murmured, not looking up. "I'll catch you up later."_

_"No. You'll come now."_

_Harry ignored him, and, impatiently, he leaned over, across the document Harry was re-reading._

_"Tom," Harry growled. "Now you're just being annoying."_

_"And there was me thinking I was being a good friend," he replied, smirking. "Your girlfriend would kill me for over-working you."_

_Harry stiffened, as if suppressing a flinch. Tom's smirk vanished, and he regarded Harry more closely._

_Megan. It was something to do with Megan...he thought that was her name, anyway..._

_"Girl trouble?" he questioned, a tad awkwardly. "Did you two have a row?"_

_"We broke up," Harry stated, his tone clipped, brooking no further questioning._  
_Tom's eyes narrowed. This time, for once, he hadn't actually done anything to sabotage, so he was slightly at a loss as to what the problem was...though he couldn't quite suppress his glee._

_"Why?" he demanded._

_"Just leave it, alright?" Harry said, irritably. "I don't want to talk about it. Are you planning on giving me my peace treaty back?"  
__  
"Not until you tell me, no," he responded. Harry scowled, before just simply standing and heading for the door._

_Well, at least that was something. He followed, falling into step next to the other easily, though his scrutiny remained intent._

_"It wasn't going to work between us," Harry said finally. "Satisfied?"_

_"Why not? I mean, in your opinion," he added. "I personally thought she was dull and pathetic from the start, but I presume you initially viewed her in a more favourable light as you agreed to date her in the first place..."_

_"Let's just say she likes someone else," Harry muttered. _  
_Tom's brow furrowed marginally._

_"...whilst dating you?" he asked. "Who?"_  
_He could feel a dangerous surge of fury beginning to build inside him._

_"Doesn't matter," Harry said dismissively, spinning to apparate. Tom grabbed his arm as he did so, forcing it to become side-along so Harry didn't just disappear. Nonetheless, they merely arrived at their house, and Harry shot him a look - knowing exactly what he'd just been thinking, probably._

_He returned the look, utterly unrepentant.  
"It matters to me," he replied, as if there was no pause in the conversation. Harry continued to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves._

_"Will pasta suit you for dinner, or are you going to order take-out for yourself?" Harry questioned instead._

_Harry was cooking - stressed. Harry liked cooking, he found it relaxing, the fact he was doing so now at ten O clock at night after their exhausting day with the campaign only furthered that something was wrong. _

_"Pasta suits me fine," he replied... in all honesty, he was actually rather fond of Harry's cooking (not that he'd ever tell the other that.) He watched the other boil water while considering the best approach for the topic of the break up. _

_It was something new, different then normal; obviously, Harry had never reacted like this to a break-up. Normally he just exploded sooner or later in a 'why the hell does she think I'm gay!' tirade or some other form of rant to get the whole thing out of his system before largely reverting to normal after maybe a week or so._

_"She broke up with you," he stated, regarding Harry closely for confirmation, before his eyebrows shot up. "Oh...you broke up with her. This is interesting. Why?"_

_"Just shut up, alright?" Harry instructed tightly. "This is my life, not just some puzzle to keep you entertained while you wait for food. Do something useful and set the table or something instead of pestering me, why don't you?"_

_Tom was searching his mind for possible reasons why Harry would break up what appeared to largely be a successful relationship. He'd said she liked someone else._

_"Did she cheat on you?" he asked, circling to better assess Harry's expressions. If she had...he silently plotted revenge inside._

_"No, she just prefers someone else, I'm sure you'll find out about it soon enough," Harry replied tersely, draining the pasta, before adding sauce. "You're doing the dishes by the way, as I'm cooking."_

_Tom merely blinked at that statement, though made no protest, more concerned with his current trail of thought._

_Find out soon enough...via the paper, or because she was in love with someone he knew, and so she would approach them and he'd find out that...oh._  
_Memories of the times he'd spent with Harry and...Megan (was it?) flashed before his eyes._

_"Oh...oh no," he murmured. Harry tensed even further._

_"Yeah," he muttered. "Like I said, just leave it - alright?"_  
_Harry started bringing the pasta to the table, jaw tight._

_"Me?" Tom verified. "She's...she's in love with me?"_  
_How repulsive. He nearly grimaced at the mere thought._

_"I'd rather not discuss this," Harry said stiffly, sitting down, serving himself. Tom sat down too, in his customary seat._

_For a while, they ate in silence. It was good food; not that he'd expected anything less._  
_He considered for a while again, before standing up, going to the kitchen and getting glasses and wine. He offered one to Harry, with a raised eyebrow._

_Harry accepted it after casting numerous spells over it to check he hadn't added anything 'unnatural.'_

_"I'm hurt, darling," he said, dryly. "All this time, and you still don't trust me..."_

_"All this time, and I only know you better...how on earth do you expect me to trust you?" Harry returned, teasingly, though it lacked the normal vibrancy and spark._

_Tom smirked, but didn't protest that statement. They clinked their glasses together without comment, and if Harry practically downed his own, for once he didn't comment on it._

_As happy he was that Harry was no longer with Megan Kissinger, this wasn't satisfactory._

_"I...apologise," he said, uncomfortable with saying such a thing. Harry rolled his eyes._

_"It's hardly your fault, I presume you didn't encourage her?"_

_"As if," Tom dismissed, scathingly, before turning a more serious. "I...wouldn't do that. Not to you."_

_Harry glanced at him for a moment, before nodding once, sharply._  
_The silence was marginally less awkward this time, though Harry's attention was still rather pointedly fixed away from here. And he drank a bit too much too fast, perhaps._

_"...so, does she have some sort of mental affliction?" he questioned._  
_Harry laughed._

_And, later, much later, Tom slipped out into the night to pay the girl a visit._  
_After all, her status as Harry's girlfriend had always been the only thing keeping him civil..._

* * *

5) Threaten the target 

Pros; this was probably the most satisfying method.

Cons; it was difficult to pull off, with a high risk factor, and a bit too blunt for his tastes in anything other but critical situations.

There were so many things that could go wrong with such a method, and so he had to be careful whenever he implemented this particular one.

Case Study: Pansy Parkinson

Barring the rather notable 'marriage' incident, which was the last, he'd had several run-ins with this particular girl before. For a Slytherin, and even more so as one of his Death Eaters, it took her third time lucky to get the damn hint to back off.

The first time had been in their fifth year, in which she'd first began to show an interest in Harry for the sake of securing her own position within the hierarchy of their house.

Harry had, unfortunately, spared the stupid girl from more than a brief period humiliation and some sharp words. He would have preferred the use of a sharp knife, personally, but occasionally he regrettably had to defer to appeasing Harry's sense of morality on such matters.

The first time was perhaps his most subtle of warnings, but, really, he'd hoped she might understand from that. It seemed not; her capabilities for delusion seemed to be on the same atrocious level as Lestrange's had been.

The second time had been more pointed, when she accidentally ended up falling down the stairs after spending a whole time simpering over the Boy-Who-Lived.

The problem with having to fake it as an accident so convincingly, and to so limit his personal involvement due to deals with Harry, was that his performance was so utterly convincing that she didn't connect the dots as to what she'd been punished for.

Nevertheless, her broken limbs had kept her at bay, quite literally - in the hospital bay, indeed. Unfortunately, Harry had visited her there too with some ridiculous notion of guilt or whatever, but he'd soon been distracted with their whirlwind life once more.

Strike three, and her most audacious imposition, proved her finally out, as he made absolutely no effort to sugar coat his intentions if she _dared _approach Harry in such a manner again. Really, the reaction had been delightful, even if the fall out of Harry's temper had initially been potentially problematic.

On the whole, however, it had worked out well..and, perhaps, indirectly, in the most effective way of all.

* * *

+ 1 - He's taken! (Post LC if one accepts this in the LC Headcanon universe :P)

They were at the annual Ministry Summer Ball, and even after several years of them, Harry loathed them as much as ever.

Tom always insisted in the finest of clothes for all of their company, and whoever he associated with, and though acromantula silk was the opposite of a hardship to wear, he still always felt self-conscious and like a child playing dress up.

He kept expected to be called up his attire, though Tom had always had something dark to mutter on that topic whenever the subject was even close to being brought up.

This time was no different, except for the small fact that this time he and Tom were actually going, well...together. It felt a little strange, if he was completely honest with himself, but not necessarily bad.

Largely, however, any change in their relationship had slipped pretty seamlessly into their lifestyle, so there were no particular significant changes except for maybe just the smallest of shifts in the way they treated each other. Even then, not really.

Tom wasn't overly affectionate or anything, and hadn't really changed his behaviour at all, aside from the whole kissing thing, every so often. There wasn't any pressure there, whatsoever, either way.

At the ball, they both had the same lifestyle and duties of mingling as they always had - and they'd always largely been paired anyway.

Whilst some people were unfavourable to the idea of them being together in such a manner, homophobic, a disconcerting amount didn't actually recognise any change whatsoever. They just assumed they'd stopped 'pretending.'

He supposed 'coming out' or whatever was easier when everyone had already spent the last five years or so telling you that you were in love or in a secret relationship anyway...

Not that they'd ever actually announced it or become public about it, officially. People saw what they saw, and assumed what they didn't see.

Now, however, taking a momentary break from dancing at the stress of saying the right thing to everyone and being on perfect form and politically correct all the time, he'd sat by the bar for a while, ordering himself a firewhiskey.

"I'll get that for you," said a voice, sliding over some galleons before he could pay. He turned.

"It's fine, really, I can get it," he began.

"Nonsense," the girl - Felicity, Auror, his mind supplied - said, flapping a carefree hand, grinning. "Humour me."

Harry let it go after a moment, simply tipping the glass in salute, somewhat used to such things by now, even if some remnant from his time in the past made it odd that she would be the one buying him drinks.

"Cheers," he replied, instead, with a smile. "I owe you one."

"I can deal with that," she winked, and he laughed, despite his marginal discomfort.  
They chatted for a while, idly, and it was pleasant enough. She was an intelligent conversationalists, and seemed to abhor these events as much as he did.

It became a bit awkward when she started pressing closer to him though, subtly, leaning more and more in the more she drank.

He suspected it wasn't something she'd do normally - it was the drinking she'd obviously been indulging in with her stressful job and own discomfort at ministry balls that spurred her to do it. She was young, too, hadn't been to enough of these things to realise yet that the alcohol served was stronger than normal.

He tried to gently remove her drink before things got embarrassing, because, really, it wasn't her fault.

She avoided the gesture absently, before abruptly pressing a kiss to his lips and declaring that she wanted to dance with him.

He was getting dragged to the dance floor when Tom appeared at his side, smiling at them both.

"Ah, there you are Harry," the Slytherin Heir greeted, with an almost frightening pleasantness. Before he was even aware of what was happening, Felicity's hand was no longer in his own, and instead Tom's hand was. He was all smiles, but his grip was unyielding, and it pulled him closer to the young Dark Lord.

Felicity's expression flickered somewhat.

"I-oh," she said. "Are you two-?" she was blushing now, looking incredibly embarrassed. Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for her - his and Tom's party were probably some of the youngest at the whole event anyway.

"Yes," Tom said firmly. "We are."  
His dark gaze seemed to sear into the Auror's, who suddenly looked like she would have preferred to be out on the field chasing murderers.

"I didn't know," she said, glancing between them both. "Sorry."

"Well, now you do," Tom returned, with an edge of coldness. The next second, Harry found himself being swept up onto the dancefloor once more, only with Tom as his partner.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Possessive, much?" he demanded, lowly. "She didn't know, you probably scared the poor girl half to death swooping in like that - and who the hell said you get to lead anyway?" he added, at their dancing, scowling at that.

"I get to lead because I'm taller than you, and a better dancer," Tom replied, eyes gleaming with the traces of an inner smirk, though that concentrated possessiveness was still very much present. Harry couldn't help but wonder if that was going to become a problem, but Tom was already continuing. "And, yes, I'm very possessive. You should already know that."

"You know, in our line of work, I do kind of have to dance with other people..." Harry said, sincerely hoping Tom hadn't seen everything that happened at the bar.

"...and allowing them to kiss you?"

Damn it.

"Wasn't my fault!" he protested. "Bloody hell, it's not like I knew it was coming."

"You should have slapped her for the audacity," Tom replied darkly, his grip tightening, nails digging in slightly into his suit.

"She's drunk. She didn't know. Won't happen again. Drop it," Harry muttered, feeling uncomfortable.

"She didn't know...you should know better," Tom murmured dangerously. Harry grimaced.

"You know," he said, after a moment, baiting the other because honestly no matter what their relationship status was or wasn't, that was just how they did things, "you have no right to be pissed off because we never actually specified any exclusivity in this...hell, we never specified _anything_."

"We didn't?" Tom had that alarming smile on again. "My mistake."  
The next second, Tom was bounding up towards a podium, pulling him along by the hand despite his effort to pull back. "Excuse me," the young Dark Lord called out, getting some quiet.

Harry paled.

"Oh no - Tom, don't you dare-" he began.  
Tom ignored him, flashing another disarming smile.

"Just to avoid any further misconceptions, Harry's with me. As in, dating me. As in, mine and off limits. Thank you all so much for coming, hope you're having a wonderful night."  
There was an awkward silence.  
Harry resisted the urge to face-palm, or let the earth swallow him up, flushing furiously.

"I can't believe you just did that," he said flatly, as, after a while, the room returned to its normal volume with more amusement than anything else. "You are _unbelievable."_

Tom pressed a kiss to his mouth, crushingly, before yanking him off the podium again.

"I figured you'd prefer it to a 'property of Tom Riddle' t-shirt, with 'if lost, please return to this address' on the back," Tom drawled.

Harry blinked.

"I'm going to sincerely hope that was a joke, because it would cause a scandal if I punched you right now."

Tom merely smirked at him.

"Of course it was joke, darling," he replied.  
The gleam in his eyes said otherwise.

"...go dance with Hermione before I punch you."

* * *

_A/N: Solace in Shadows next on my update list ;)_


End file.
